Walking In Memphis
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When Bart Maverick gets a telegram summoning him to Memphis, things are not what he expected. What's happened to his brother Bret? And what is Ginny Malone doing there?
1. Not My Brother

Walking in Memphis

Chapter 1 – Not My Brother

I was in Covington, Tennessee when I got the telegram from Ginny Malone. _'Bret shot. Come quick. Malone.'_

I'd been there about a week, just kind of dawdling, on my way to meet Bret in Memphis. Oh yeah, I'm Bart Maverick, professional poker player, and Bret is my older brother. Also a professional poker player. I make the distinction between the term I use to describe us and the word 'gambler,' primarily because of the unsavory images that 'gambler' brings to mind. We are not card cheats, we are honest card players. I know what people think of us; that's their problem. Bret and I are less than two years apart in age, and spend quite a bit of our time traveling together. He practically raised me, but that's another story.

Ginny Malone is a Pinkerton detective, and one of the most spectacular looking creatures God ever put on earth. My brother also happens to be in love with her, and she with him, although neither of them is inclined to admit it. Ginny is also 'Captain Malone' in the Western Regional division of the detective agency, and I was surprised that she was once again working this far southeast. Then again, when you're as good an agent as Ginny, you go where your boss sends you. And Arthur Stansbury was liable to send her anywhere they needed her.

We've both worked with Ginny before, on a temporary basis, and been well paid for our efforts. Not that either of us is inclined to 'work.' It's just that when Ginny is involved Bret tends to say yes more than he says no, and I feel the need to go along to keep the both of them out of trouble. This time I had no idea what I was walking into – Bret hadn't said a word about doing a job with Malone. Then again, maybe this was pleasure and not work. Although getting shot sure doesn't sound like pleasure.

No matter what it was, I wasn't wasting any more time in Covington. I caught the first stage out of town and spent the next two days and nights bouncing around until every part of me was bruised and tender. On the third morning we arrived in Memphis, and I was once again pleased to be in the city. I'd always had good luck here, even the time I'd snuck off a riverboat on its way to New Orleans and then snuck back on it. As I got off the stage I found Malone waiting for me, and I was surprised by her appearance. She was dressed very plainly in riding clothes, her beautiful red hair pulled tightly and woven into a long braid down her back. And she looked like she hadn't slept in days. The only thing that carried even a hint of the woman I knew were those magnificent blue eyes, but even those were abnormally subdued looking.

Her greeting was minimal, and basically silent. She gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and the only word out of her mouth was a very soft "Bart." I knew immediately that whatever had happened was a lot more serious than her telegram let on.

"How is he?" I had a lot more questions than that, but the rest of them would wait until Ginny answered that one.

Something that sounded like a sob escaped from her before she could suppress it. When she answered me her voice was strangled sounding, and I swear there were tears in her eyes. "Doctor . . . doctor says he's dying."

XXXXXXXX

Neither of us said anything until we got to the hotel room. Ginny unlocked the door and I followed her in quickly, refusing to believe the words I'd heard her say just a few short minutes ago. Until I saw him.

Bret was as pale as the sheets he was lying on, and just about as thin as I'd ever seen him. I was the one that didn't carry much weight around, but Bret was built tall and solid. His eyes were closed, and I couldn't tell if he was unconscious or asleep, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He was still and silent.

I gasped; I'd never seen him look this bad. Ginny reached out a hand and grabbed my arm, whether to steady me or just give me some kind of an anchor, I don't know. There was an empty chair right next to the bed – in a few seconds I'd collapsed into it. "How long has he been this way?" The voice was thin and unsteady . . . and it took some time for me to realize it was my voice.

"Almost a week," came the whispered reply. "Ever since . . . " Ginny stopped, and I waited for her to continue. She didn't.

"Since what?" I managed to get out.

"Ever since Ben Newton shot him."

I couldn't help myself, I had to blame somebody. "One of your assignments?" I sounded angry. I was angry. Why had Bret gotten involved with another of Ginny's cases?

But I was wrong. Her head was shaking, and the tears finally spilled over and ran down her face. "No. Ben Newton owns the 'Memphis Lady,' one of the newer riverboats. It was over an Ace of Spades."

"Bret was shot playin' cards?" I choked out.

"Bret was shot cheating," came the last thing I ever thought I'd hear anybody say about my brother.

"Bret was . . . Bret was . . . my brother was . . . no, not Bret." I stared at her then, the anguish and exhaustion showing on her face. "He couldn't . . . he doesn't . . . he wouldn't cheat, Ginny. Not Bret. Not my brother."

She gripped my shoulder tightly, as much for her benefit as my own. "That's what Newton claimed." She perched on the edge of the bed, looking like she was going to topple over any second. "And Bret hasn't been able to deny it."

"Tell me exactly what happened, Ginny. Don't leave anything out. I need to hear the whole story."

She staggered to her feet and grabbed my hand, trying to pull me away from the bed. "Come over to the table. Doc says he might be able to hear us . . . and I don't want him upset."

"He might . . . alright, but give me a minute, would ya? I have to talk to him." She nodded and walked over to the table and chairs at the far side of the room. I reached under the blankets and found my brother's hand, and grasped it in both of mine. My words were whispered for his ears only. "I'm here, Bret. I'll not leave ya now. You just relax, and rest, and let me get to the bottom of this. I'll find out why Newton claimed . . . I'll find out why he lied. And I'll make it right. You . . . you take it easy and get well. And don't you worry none about Ginny. Whatever she needs . . . I'll take care of her. You gotta promise me, though – you gotta promise me you won't do nothin' foolish. Like runnin' off and leavin' us alone. I don't care what the doctor says, he don't know you like I do. You just . . . you just keep restin', till you're good and strong again. Then you come on back to us. You hear me?" I squeezed his hand, and I could swear that he squeezed back, just a little bit.

After a minute or so I withdrew my hands and smoothed the blanket down. "I'll be right over here, by the window, with Ginny. She's gonna explain everything to me. I'll be back when she's done." I had to pause for a minute; there was one more thing I needed to say. "I love you, Brother Bret. Don't you be goin' nowhere without me."


	2. The Newton Boy

Chapter 2 – The Newton Boy

 _I didn't know Bret was here in Memphis when I got here, and I was surprised as I could be when I ran into him on the Memphis Lady. I'd gone there to investigate a series of suspicious shootings that had taken place over the last two months. One night I found myself in the poker parlor playing lady gambler and who should sit down at the same table but your brother. Introductions were made all around, and I became Virginia Reisbach. Bret, of course, played right along with the deception. The table remained intact until two o'clock in the morning and, no doubt due to your brother's gentlemanly behavior, I won as much as anyone else. Of course, I allowed myself to get to know Mr. Maverick better, and we spent several more hours drinking coffee, talking and flirting. Ben Newton was there that night watching the two of us quite closely, so we put on a good show for him._

 _I met Bret in Memphis the next afternoon and explained why I was there. We spent a lovely afternoon at one of the finer restaurants, then drove around the city sightseeing. It was my first time in Memphis, and we had a wonderful day. Bret took me back to the Lady and he, I assume, returned to his hotel to prepare for another night of poker. I wasn't surprised to see him again that night, but this time we played poker at separate tables. I did fairly well again; your brother is an excellent teacher and he had schooled me well when we were in St. Louis. Ben played poker with Bret, and they seemed wary of each other. I got quite an earful from the other men about Ben's penchant for winning, but all remained calm and peaceful at each of the tables._

 _Bret's game broke up before mine did, and he slipped me a note on his way out. It was an invitation to spend the next day at the horse races with him. Newton had a thoroughbred running and was supposed to be there, and Bret thought it might not be a bad idea for us to show up, too. I trusted Bret's instincts, and he seemed to suspect something not quite right with Ben Newton. We had a great day at the races; Newton's horse won and Ben seemed to be in a really excellent mood. He even had us join him in his box, and he played magnanimous host. That's why I was so surprised by what happened later on board the Lady._

 _Newton came in late, and it was obvious that he'd spent the remainder of the afternoon celebrating his victory at the races. I wasn't playing cards when he arrived, but after a few minutes of bragging about his win a seat opened up at the table Bret was playing at and Ben sat down. He won two or three hands in a row and then the day's celebrations caught up with him, and he began losing every game he played. He started grumbling, then outright complaining, and finally blaming everyone and everything. One by one the men at the table dropped out, until it was only him and Bret. Bret never answered any of Ben's pointed remarks or accusations, and maintained his dignity. When he'd had enough he finally threw in his cards and got ready to leave. That's when Ben accused him of cheating, insisting that during the last game Bret had palmed the Ace of Spades and used it to win the pot. As even tempered as Bret is, that was enough for any man, and he told Ben he didn't cheat. The argument escalated until Bret stood up. That's when Ben pulled his gun and shot Bret point blank._

 _Of course Newton insisted that he was protecting himself, that he feared Bret was going to pull his own gun and shoot. It made no difference that Bret had done nothing to indicate the potential of violence; several of Ben's cronies were willing to swear they'd seen Bret go for his gun. I saw the bullet tear into him – it caught him right in the stomach. I was sure that he was dead when I saw him fall. Fortunately one of the men on the paddlewheel that night was a doctor. If he hadn't been there Bret would have bled to death before a doctor could get out there._

 _The doctor got the bleeding stopped and we moved him to this hotel room. He's been here ever since, unconscious for the most part. Doctor Wheeler couldn't find the bullet; it's still in there somewhere. He lost so much blood because of the location of the wound, and he hasn't responded to anything Doc has tried. He's been on the verge of an infection for days, but he's managed to avoid one so far. Doc says he's got a low-grade fever that doesn't go up or down; just stays the same. He wants to go back in and get the bullet out, but Bret hasn't improved and Wheeler doesn't feel comfortable making an attempt right now. He thinks there's still some bleeding going on in there somewhere, and came to the conclusion two days ago that Bret was slowly dying._

 _The marshal knows I'm Pinkerton. I think he believed me when I told him that Bret doesn't cheat and he wasn't getting ready to draw his gun. But Newton's got enough witnesses willing to swear to his version of things that there's nothing Marshal Tedford can do. I wired Arthur when I wired you . . . he told me to take whatever time I need. He's suspended the investigation until Bret . . . recovers._

By the time Ginny finished her explanation she was once again in tears. I reached over and took her hand, and it was cold and clammy. I'd never seen her so distraught. I don't know what I looked like, but I know how I felt – like somebody had ripped my insides out. I needed to start asking questions, or I was going to go looking for Ben Newton.

"The other shootings – the ones you came to investigate – was Newton involved in those, too?"

Ginny shook her head but she never let go of my hand. "Just one or two of them. And they were all different. There was no pattern to them, nothing I could put my finger on. Then Bret got shot before I could do any more investigating, and I've done nothing since. Nothing but sit here, day after day, and pray that he doesn't die. I can't lose him, Bart. I can't. And he wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for me. He'd have played his poker and stayed out of Newton's way."

I controlled the urge to agree with her. I knew exactly how she felt, but that wouldn't do either of us any good. "When's the doctor supposed to be here next?"

"Sometime this morning. He comes twice a day to see if anything's changed. I think he's just waiting for what he considers to be . . . the inevitable." We sat for a few minutes in silence, her hand in mine, each frantically trying to find a way out of this untenable situation. Eventually I went back over to my brother's bedside. I'm not sure what I expected, but nothing had changed. Once again I sat down by his bed and watched him, as he had watched over me so many times in the past. And waited for Doctor Wheeler to arrive.

More than an hour passed before there was a knock on the door. Ginny answered it, and a middle-aged man came in. He looked a bit startled to see anyone besides Malone. "Dr. Wheeler, this is . . . "

"Bart Jamison," I said, extending my hand. "An old friend of Maverick's."

Ginny raised an eyebrow but never said anything. "Any change?" the doctor asked her.

She shook her head. "None that I can see. But it's your opinion that matters."

The doctor set about his examination. It took him fifteen or twenty minutes, while Malone and I waited at the far side of the room. When he was finished he turned towards us and caught her eye. She hurried back over to the bed, with me close on her heels.

"Not much difference," the doctor began. "His temperature seems to be up a bit, but nothing else discernable. He's quieter – either he's resting easier or his body is giving up. I can't tell which at this point."

"What about the bullet, Doc?" I asked him.

"It's still in there, Mr. Jamison. I'd like to attempt another extraction, but I just don't think he could stand the strain. If that fever would ever break . . . "

"What are the chances of that happening, Doctor?"

"Not gonna lie to you. They get thinner by the day. If something doesn't happen soon, he'll be too weak when it does. Sorry to be so blunt, but you need to know what he's up against. It's not looking real good right now. I'll come by this evening. See if you can get some water down him today. Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mr. Jamison."

We shook hands again and Ginny walked the doctor to the door. When she returned I was wiping his forehead with a wet rag. His fever wasn't raging, the way mine had on more than one occasion, or Pappy's when he had pneumonia, but it was enough to cause discomfort. And to prevent the doctor from looking for the bullet.

"What now, Mr. Jamison?"

"Now we wait, Miss Reisbach. And pray that the Maverick luck holds."


	3. Come Back to Me

Chapter 3 – Come Back to Me

That was one of the longest days of my life. After Doc Wheeler departed I finally convinced Ginny to leave for a while – she'd seen nothing but the inside of Bret's hotel room for a week. "Go do something nice for yourself. Go shopping. Take a bath. Pistol-whip Ben Newton. Don't come back here until you feel calmer, more relaxed. I'm not gonna leave him alone."

She refused at first, but by mid-afternoon she was tired enough from listening to me to actually pick herself up and go. She had a room on the Memphis Lady, so I was sure it would be a while before she came back. That was alright by me; Ginny needed some time to come to terms with what was happening in Bret's hotel room, and I needed some time to talk my brother out of it.

Actually, I needed peace and quiet with my brother – time to think over the things Ginny told me, time to comprehend Bret's part in all of it, time to make sense out of Ben Newton. I wasn't sure what was gonna be more difficult, understanding what Bret was doing in the middle of all this, or getting a handle on this Newton fellow. After a while of chasing my tail (in my head, of course), I decided I needed first-hand exposure to the shooter and tucked him away mentally to work on later.

Well then – Bret. Was he suspicious of whatever was happening on the Memphis Lady, or was it strictly the presence of Ginny Malone that led him into this jumble of confusion? Or perhaps a bit of both? Bret insisted he was nothing but a good 'ole Texas boy, but I'd spent my whole life around him. I knew better. If he was nosing around the Lady and her owner there was a reason for it. And I mean a reason other than the red-headed, blue-eyed one. It had been his choice for us to meet in Memphis, after all; we hadn't spent any time together since the last time we left Texas, and that was several months ago. I'd been busy. There was the trip to Charleston with Doralice; the run I'd made through Kentucky, and the trouble I'd gotten into with Dandy Jim Buckley in Montgomery and Birmingham. I was just about to cut my losses in the south when I heard from Bret, summoning me to Memphis. It was headed in the right direction – west – and I missed my brother. I was curious to see what he was up to, and how his heart had fared since the last breakup with the aforementioned Miss Malone.

I didn't understand those two, and yet I understood them perfectly. My relationship with Doralice Donovan was much the same . . . hotter than a firecracker when we were together, content with the status quo when we weren't. Neither one of us was willing to be together permanently – at least not yet. We were contented adults that loved yet didn't restrict each other.

Ginny and Bret appeared to be something entirely different. Bret had asked her to marry him before we left St. Louis, and she said 'Yes' – more or less. BUT. Not until she'd achieved her long-term goal of high-ranking status in the Pinkerton organization. She had her reasons, and she'd made up her mind that accomplishment came first in her life. As much as she loved my brother, she needed to come to him on her own terms, in her own time. And Bret? Bret was crazy about her – when they were together there was no one else in the world. Yet each time they parted I wondered if they'd ever find their way back to each other. Their good-byes seemed more like permanent break-ups and less like temporary separations.

There was no doubt in my mind at the moment. Ginny loved him and was terrified of losing him. I wondered how she'd react if their next goodbye was the last.

And me? What would I do without Brother Bret? At various times he was my mother, my father, my best friend, the biggest thorn in my side. He was my conscience, my voice of reason. I would do anything in the world for him. Time and again he'd proven he felt the same about me. Until he didn't.

We'd had our disagreements, our falling-out's. We were brothers, after all. The summer I was fourteen and went on a cattle drive. The time he bet my most precious possession, the cufflinks momma left to me, and lost them in a poker game. The whole Cantaro debacle. His continued irritation over my friendship with Dandy Jim. And I'm still not sure he's ever gotten over the time I took a bullet for him in Laredo, and it almost got me killed.

I sat at his bedside all afternoon and thought about the things we'd done together. And, as usual when I start reminiscing, I found myself talking to him. What was it Ginny had told me? That the doctor thought he might be able to hear us? So I talked. I reminded him of all the scrapes we'd gotten into, all the trouble we'd caused for each other, all the messes we'd gotten the other one out of. I talked to him about Pappy, and Uncle Bentley, and Cousin Beau; about Noble and Blackthorn and Melody the cat; about runaway rafts in the river and setting chickens on fire. I talked until my voice gave out, and then I talked some more. Finally I was out of words, and exhausted to boot, and I laid my head down on the bed, next to his still form, and closed my eyes.

XXXXXXXX

I felt the knocking for a few minutes before I actually heard it. The sound penetrated my brain and I raised my head slowly, groggily, and had to wait for my eyes to focus. I practically jumped to my feet when I realized someone was knocking on the door, someone besides Ginny. I stumbled to it and took a moment to clear my head, then pulled the door open.

A man I'd never seen before stood with his arm raised, ready to knock again. He was fortyish, dark brown hair, with a mustache and goatee. He was dressed elegantly, like an extremely successful gambler, with a blue-gray waistcoat and dark gray frock coat. Striped black pants and a black hat completed his dress, and he wore no visible gun.

His voice, when he spoke, was marked by a distinctly southern drawl. "I'm sorry, I thought this was Bret Maverick's room."

"It is," I answered. "And you are?"

"Ben Newton," came the reply. It wasn't an answer I was expecting. "May I come in?"

I held the door open wide and allowed the man that had tried to kill my brother entry. "Miss Reisbach?"

"Not here right now, as you can see. What is it that you wanted, Mr. Newton?" My voice was still raspy from all the talking I'd done to Bret earlier, and the temperature of it was frosty, at best.

The comeback was quick; the voice still semi-friendly. "To whom am I speaking, sir?"

My answer was curt. I was offering no unnecessary information. "Bart Jamison."

He was nothing if not persistent. "Are you related to Mr. Maverick, Mr. Jamison?"

"Old friend."

"Ah. Then I certainly understand the suspicion. No doubt you are well aware of the fact that I am the man that shot your friend."

Steady, Bart. He said it so naturally, so casually, as if it was information that was no more important than the time of day. "I am." I closed the door behind him. "Again, what is it that you wanted, Mr. Newton?"

"I wanted to see how he was doing today. I was hoping there might be some improvement."

I kept my answer flat and unemotional. "Really? Are you always so concerned when you shoot someone?"

He looked as if I'd hurt his feelings. "Mr. Jamison, I swear to you that I most certainly regret my actions regarding Mr. Maverick. If there were anything I could do to change what happened . . . but I beg you to understand, sir, that I was in fear for my very life. The man was cheating, and when I called him on it he fully intended to shoot me."

If it was anyone else lying in that bed I might actually believe Newton. But this was my brother we were talking about, and there were several points to consider. Bret didn't cheat unless someone was cheating him and there was no other way around it. My brother would never have tried to outdraw anyone. He admitted to being the second slowest gun in the west (you can draw your own conclusions about the slowest, but Bret could outdraw me). And again, Bret didn't cheat. So I was certain there was absolutely no truth to the lies he was spoon-feeding me.

"I have only your word on the matter, Mr. Newton. I will reserve judgement until I hear Mr. Maverick's take on the circumstances."

With my remark he brightened. "Ah, then you have had some encouraging news from the doctor? An expectation of recovery, perhaps?"

I shook my head slightly. "No, sir. There has been no change in the prognosis. Mr. Maverick is not expected to live." Even though I didn't believe what I was telling him, I saw no reason to jeopardize Bret's precarious health. Just in case Ben Newton was inclined to finish what he'd started.

His countenance fell. The man standing in front of me was giving a command performance – doing his best to make me believe he regretted what he'd done. I didn't believe him for a moment. He wanted Bret dead and had done his level best to accomplish that very thing. I needed to make sure he didn't make another attempt, and I had to know his reasons for the first one. Just what was it that my brother knew or suspected about Ben Newton? And what was I going to have to do to find out?

Before I could say or do anything else, Ginny Malone practically burst through the door. This was the Ginny I knew – red hair long and flowing, dressed to dazzle even the most jaded man, her blue eyes sparkling like precious stones in the night sky. She was all fire and fury as she hissed through clenched teeth, "Get out. Get out before I have you thrown out."

The southern gentleman all but disappeared. He nodded curtly to Ginny, then me. "Miss Reisbach. Mr. Jamison." Without anything further he strode to the door and left the room; I closed the door behind him.

"What did that snake want?"

"He wanted to know if Bret was dead yet," I told her, although Newton hadn't said anything to that effect at all.

"What!?" the Pinkerton agent choked out.

I shook my head, feeling rather contrite for having upset her any further. "I'm sorry, Ginny. He said he was here to see if there was any improvement."

"Did you believe him?" I said nothing, and she continued. "Still Mr. Jamison?"

"Yep. I think it's safer that way for now." I took her hand and looked at her. "You look more like you."

The tiniest of smiles played around her lips. "You know what a bath and a change of clothes can do for you. Along with fresh air and sunshine." She looked towards the bed. "What did the two of you do this afternoon?"

"We spent the afternoon talking over old times," I told her.

"Sounds like you did all the talking."

My voice was still raspy and faint, and I nodded. "Yeah, he didn't have much to say." Just as I finished, there was a slight movement in the bed. We both saw it and hurried to the bedside, but there was nothing further. Ginny sat down in the chair and took Bret's hand, curling her fingers around his. It was a sweet gesture, but when she looked up at me there was nothing but pain in her eyes.

"Bart," she started, but couldn't get any further. She squeezed his hand and directed her remarks to the comatose man in the bed. "Come back to me, Bret. Just come back to me."


	4. Palming an Ace

Chapter 4 – Palming an Ace

Ginny convinced me that I should eat something, and for once I agreed with her. I'd had no food since a hastily consumed supper last night, and I was actually hungry. Normally when I'm tied up in knots emotionally the last thing on my mind is food, but that didn't seem to be the case this time. Maybe because I couldn't allow myself to believe that Bret was actually going to die. Maybe because anger had begun to replace despair inside me. Maybe I just had to get out of that room for a while, and eating was as good an excuse as any.

It wasn't much, what I had for supper, but it was accompanied by enough coffee to keep me satisfied. When I finished I walked outside and lit a cigar, blowing the smoke out in a long cloud. I could smell the river and hear the steamboats and paddlewheels moving up and down it, and I wondered what I would be doing if Bret wasn't lying in bed upstairs. Playing poker, no doubt, and my mind drifted to the game that Bret and I both loved. For some reason I thought about the card he was accused of palming. The Ace of Spades. There was something significant about the Ace of Spades, but just what it was escaped me right now. Never mind, it would come to me when I least expected it. I finished the cigar and had just thrown the butt into the street when I saw Doc Wheeler headed my way.

"Good evenin', Doctor. How was your day?"

He smiled at me and clapped me on the shoulder as if he'd known me my entire life. "Mr. Jamison. Better than I expected it to be. How's our patient this evening?"

I let out a long, quiet sigh. "Wish I could tell you he seemed better. The truth is, there doesn't appear to be any change at all."

The doctor followed me into the hotel and up the stairs. "Not a bit surprised, son. He's been that way for more than a week. He just seems to spend his time hovering."

"Hovering?"

"Can't make up his mind whether to live or die. Never saw a man hover so danged long. Sure wish he'd decide." I must have looked startled, because Doc Wheeler hastily clarified. "To stay, I mean. Decide to stay."

When we walked into Bret's room Ginny was sitting by the bed singing quietly. I'd never heard her sing before, but she had a lovely voice. I caught some of the words and it sounded like a lullaby. She stopped when she saw us.

"Good evening, Miss Reisbach. How's he doing?"

She smiled just a little; the most I'd seen her smile since I got there. It was melancholy and hopeful at the same time. "He's moved around some today, Doctor. Just a few minutes ago I thought he might be waking up. Is that good?"

"Let's hope so." This time Ginny and I stood at the foot of the bed while Wheeler did his exam. I'd seen Simon Petry conduct enough exams on one person or another to know that Doc did a thorough job, and I was satisfied that he knew what he was doing. When he was finished he turned to the two of us with what I can only describe as a grim look on his face.

"Sorry, folks, it doesn't look any better. His fever seems a little more intense, and I'm beginning to think an infection has finally taken hold. Keep a close watch on him tonight – I suspect we're on the verge of something, though I sure don't quite know what. I'll be by in the morning."

I walked Doc Wheeler to the door and closed it after him. As soon as I turned around I had an armful of Pinkerton agent, and although there were no tears, she clung to me for dear life. Her whisper was barely audible. "We're gonna lose him, aren't we?"

My stomach twisted a thousand different ways, but I refused to buy into her fear. "No. We are not gonna lose him. Don't you know by now how stubborn all us Mavericks are?" Her head nodded against my shoulder, and I tightened my grip on her. "I won't let him die, Ginny. Believe me. I won't let him die."

A knock on the door and I had to pull myself away from her. Once again I opened the room to someone I didn't know, but at least I didn't have to guess who it was. There was a badge that read _'United States_ _Marshal'_ pinned to his vest.

"Marshal Tedford," I stated as I opened the door wide enough for him to come in.

"You have the advantage, Mr. . . .?"

"Jamison."

The marshal tipped his hat to Ginny. "Miss Reisbach. I'm glad you're not alone up here anymore."

The defiant tone was back in her voice. "I was never alone, marshal. Mr. Maverick was always here."

"Yes, well. How is he? Has he regained consciousness?"

"No, he hasn't. At least not since this morning, when I arrived," I explained to him.

"A friend? Must be a good friend, to come all the way to Memphis. How long have you known him, Mr. Jamison?"

"We grew up together, marshal. I've known him all my life. And I was already on my way to meet Bret here."

"Another gambler, I assume?"

There was nothing derogatory in the remark, but I was a bit defensive anyway. "Among other things, yes." Let the marshal wonder what the 'other things' were.

He turned his attention to Ginny. "I've finished talkin' to everybody that was in the salon that night, Agent Malone. Nobody has been able to substantiate your claim that Maverick wasn't goin' for his gun."

"I can substantiate it, Tedford."

That's when the marshal turned back to glare at me. "You wasn't there, Jamison."

"I didn't need to be. Bret would never draw on anyone. Even when somebody accused him of cheatin'."

"Now how do you know that?"

"All my life, marshal. I've known him all my life."

"Then why does everybody support Ben Newton's claim about the gun?"

"I don't," Ginny insisted.

"That's one against twenty or more. There's nothin' I can do with odds like that, and you both know it. And as long as he can't tell us his side of the story . . . "

I'd had enough of the marshal's excuses. "Is there somethin' else you need, marshal?"

"No, no, Mr. Jamison, I just wanted to see if there was any change."

"There isn't. When there is, you'll be the first to know. Good night, marshal." I did my best to steer Tedford to the door, and he didn't argue.

"Just remember . . . " he started to remind me.

"Good night, marshal," I repeated as I closed the door behind him. "Whew," I breathed. "Any more characters liable to appear inquiring about my brother's health?"

"None as far as I know," Ginny insisted with a slight giggle. It was the first time I'd heard anything that remotely sounded like laughter coming from her mouth.

"Why all the concern? One less gambler in the world shouldn't make a whole lotta difference to Newton and Tedford, far as I can see. Why do you suppose they're so interested?"

"That's an excellent question, Detective Maverick. Perhaps you should see if you can find out."

I crossed the room to the bowl of water on the dresser and wetted the towel I'd used to wipe Bret down earlier. As I came back to the bed to repeat the procedure I told Ginny, "I think I'll go pay a visit to the Memphis Lady tomorrow. In the meantime, why don't you get somethin' to eat?"

"Thanks," the redhead told me. "But I'm not hungry. How about you indulge me and school me some more in poker?"

"Soon as I'm done, Miss Reisbach," I promised her. "I'll teach you how to palm an ace."


	5. Morgan

Chapter 5 – Morgan

Sometime after midnight Ginny finally fell asleep, sitting in a chair at Bret's bedside. Later I found out she'd checked out of the Memphis Lady and gotten a room right down the hall, and I was glad that she was off the paddlewheel and back on dry land. As for refusing to leave Bret's side – well, I couldn't blame her for that. I was exactly the same way.

The later it got the more restless my brother became. It was apparent from the sheen of sweat on his face that his temperature was rising, and I remembered Doc Wheeler's words – _'Keep a close watch on him tonight – I suspect we're on the verge of something, though I sure don't quite know what.'_ I kept rewetting the rag and wiping him down, and he finally began to mumble out something over and over. It took me quite a while to hear him clearly, much less understand him, and when I finally did it made no sense. "Ace. Pappy's Ace."

"What are you tryin' to tell me, Bret? I don't understand."

I got no discernable answer from him, just the continued mutterings. _'Pappy's Ace.'_ Whatever he was trying to tell me must be buried somewhere in my head, but right now I couldn't think of a thing. I just kept wiping him off, soothing him when he got restless and telling him how much I needed him to fight. Fight to stay alive, fight to come back to us. I reminded him he had a woman that loved him, and a brother that was virtually useless without him. I held his hand, got up and got a fresh rag, told him over and over all he had to live for. Towards morning the mumbling stopped and he seemed more settled, although there was no change in the fever.

Right around sunup I realized that Ginny was standing behind me, with her hands on my shoulders, and it sounded like she was saying a prayer. I'd been doing that all night, although not out loud, but it was comforting to hear the words from her. When she finished she moved around to stand beside me and shifted her hand to mine, taking the wet rag from my grasp. "Why don't you lie down for a while?"

I looked up and gave her a sad smile. "Won't do no good. But I could use some coffee. How about if I fetch us some from downstairs?"

She nodded her head and took my place in the chair next to the bed when I stood up. "Sounds good. Anything I should know about?"

"Kept talkin' about that damn ace all night. Wish I knew what he meant."

"The one Newton accused him of using to cheat?"

"The same, I think. He called it ' _Pappy's Ace.'_ I'm missin' somethin', Ginny, and I just don't know what."

"Go get the coffee, Bart, and quit worrying about it. It'll come to you."

"I hope you're right, Miss Reisbach." I went downstairs and convinced them to bring cups and a pot of coffee up to the room. Then I went to the front desk to see if there were any messages for Bret. Surprisingly, there was one that was over a week old. As a matter of fact, it was dated the day Bret was shot. _'You're right, of course. How are you going to prove it? Morgan.'_

Morgan? Who was Morgan? And what was Bret trying to prove? I pocketed the note, hoping that Ginny could shed some light on it. Then I went back upstairs and waited for the coffee to arrive. We were sitting at the table by the window before I pulled the note out of my jacket and showed it to Malone. "Any idea who Morgan is?"

"None," she answered. "Unless . . . "

"Unless what?"

"There was a dealer at the Lady that Bret talked to. His name might have been Morgan."

I poured another cup of coffee for both of us. "Give me some help with that, would ya?"

"I don't know his last name. He's a faro dealer. Your age, sandy hair, speaks with an eastern accent. Kind of short and wiry."

"No idea what the note meant?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not one. You were looking for a reason to go over there anyway, weren't you?"

"I was. After Doc comes by this mornin'." I left the table and went back to Bret's bedside. The restlessness had stopped, but not the fever. Once more I wiped his face and neck down and elicited a small moan from him. "Bret? Can you hear me? Are you in there someplace, Pappy?"

His eyelids fluttered, and for a minute I thought he was gonna open his eyes. Then the movements and sounds stopped without warning, and once again his form was still and silent. I watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, and that was the only indication that my brother was still alive.

Doc came by almost an hour later, and he wasn't surprised by the activity. "I think the bullet moved," he told us once he'd finished his exam. "We can't wait too much longer. I'd like to think about trying to get it out again, maybe tomorrow morning. Either one of you got any objections?"

I shook my head, knowing what was gonna happen if it didn't come out soon. Ginny was the one that asked the question neither of us wanted to hear the answer to. "What if you can't find it?"

Doc stood tall and didn't lie about it. "Then he's going to die. There's nothing I can do to stop it."

She grabbed my hand and squeezed as hard as she could. She cleared her throat before answering and watched me closely while she said the words. "Do what you have to, Doctor Wheeler."

I nodded, agreeing completely with her. "Make all the arrangements, Doc. The bullet has to come out."

"Alright. I want to operate here, he can't be moved. You two will need to leave. I'll bring my assistant and we'll do our best."

Doc left then, and Ginny turned to me. "It's the right thing to do, isn't it?"

I did my best to smile at her. "Of course it is. He'll be fine, Ginny. He has to be."

XXXXXXXX

It was late morning before I left for the Memphis Lady. I made Ginny eat something first and take care of herself; by the time she came back to the room I'd washed up, shaved and changed clothes. I needed to look prosperous, or at least respectable, and I'd begun to resemble a cactus.

She was once again sitting by his bedside when I left. As I closed the door to his room I caught a glimpse of her, and for the first time since I'd known her she looked small and fragile.

I hired a buggy to take me down to the river where the Memphis Lady was docked; she was bigger than I expected. And newer looking. Although I was aware she'd been refurbished, still I expected her to look as if she'd been around for a while. Evidently Newton had spent a good deal of money on restoring her.

Everything was first class. Exquisitely decorated with the finest fabrics and mahogany bars, her decks were pristine. The bartenders and dealers were dressed elegantly. I ordered coffee at the bar and watched the men gambling at the various games for a few minutes, and then picked the faro game with a dealer that best fit the somewhat vague description Ginny had given me. I don't care much for faro, although I've played quite a bit of it and even dealt some; it's too easy for the dealer to manipulate. Within a few minutes I could tell that's exactly what was being done. I kept playing, modestly enough, until somebody called the dealer by name. It wasn't Morgan.

I waited a few more minutes before returning to the bar. "I was looking for a dealer named Morgan," I told the bartender. "When does he come in?"

The bartender pulled out his watch and looked at it. "He should be in any minute. He works . . . wait, that's him right now. In the green coat."

Ginny was right, he was small and wiry. And he wore glasses. I ordered a brandy and sipped it slowly, giving Morgan time to set up his game and get started. The brandy burned its way down into my stomach and reminded me that I hadn't eaten since what passed as supper last night. Two or three men took their place at Morgan's faro game and I finally sauntered over and sat down. We played for nearly an hour before the first man left, then another fifteen or twenty minutes until it was just me and the dealer. "Your name Morgan?" I finally asked quietly.

He looked up, startled, wondering what kind of trouble I was about to cause. He nodded and I continued, "Mine's Jamison. I understand you know a good friend of mine. Bret Maverick."

"He played some faro with me."

"Were you here the night he was shot?"

He said nothing, just watched me for a moment. Finally I pulled the note out of my pocket and tossed it on the faro board. "He never got this, Morgan."

The man looked like he'd just seen a ghost. He picked up the note and examined it, then dropped it back on the board as if it had burned his fingers. "Where did you get that?"

"Right where you left it, at the hotel. You wanna tell me what it means?"

"Who are you?"

"I told you. A good friend."

Now the look changed to that of a frightened animal. "No. I don't know what it means. Go away."

Another minute or two passed while we played. "Shall I show it to Ben Newton?"

I could see his countenance change; I had him, and he knew it. "Not here. I'll come to Maverick's room when I get off."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because he was the only chance I had to stay alive. He promised me immunity if I helped him."

Oh God, I was right. Bret was playing Pinkerton agent again. Or worse, he'd assumed my bad habit of masquerading as John Law. What had he gotten himself involved in this time?


	6. Deal Me In

Chapter 6 – Deal Me In

I needed to clear my head and think, and there were two ways that usually worked, either play poker or start walking. Even though I hadn't done any sleeping to speak of I had a lot of nervous energy, so I made the choice to walk.

Walking in Memphis is a unique experience. There's much to see and many things to do, and then there is the river. The Mississippi River dominates much of the city and much of the city life. I walked, and got lost, and found myself again, and I kept running everything through my mind. What was Morgan involved in that threatened his life? And who was Bret Maverick supposed to be, offering immunity that he had no right to offer? How had Bret gotten himself mixed up in whatever this was? What part did Ben Newton play, and why had he shot my brother? Despite everything I'd said and everything I believed, had Bret actually been cheating? What significance did the Ace of Spades have in all this? And just what did my brother mean by the words 'Pappy's Ace'?

By the time I got back to the hotel I'd arrived at just yesterday, I'd been gone most of the day. And I had no more answers than I'd started out with.

XXXXXXXX

Ginny was still sitting by the bed, exactly where I'd left her. She looked up at me and almost smiled. "Did you talk to Morgan?" she asked.

"I did, but I didn't find out a whole lot." I explained the extent of our conversation, and what was supposed to happen later today, and my long, rambling walk back to the hotel. And the fact that I still didn't remember the significance of 'Pappy's Ace.'

"Could it be something besides a card?"

"I suppose. But what?"

She got up from the chair and practically led me over to a seat at the table. "Why don't you sit down for a while? You look worn out."

I couldn't argue with her. Between not sleeping for any length of time and walking around the city most of the afternoon, it was no surprise that I couldn't remember anything of significance.

"What about going down to my room? You could get a couple hours sleep before Morgan shows up."

It was tempting, but I didn't want to leave Bret again. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Then let me make you a bed on the floor. You'll be right here."

That sounded like a much better idea. In just a few minutes I had the same spot on the floor that Ginny had last night, and I was asleep in no time. It proved to be the best thing I could have done.

 _I must have been about three or four years old. Momma was sitting in her rocking chair, and I was playing on the porch right next to her. Bret was out in the yard and he had some kind of stick in his hand, searching for something to hit with it, when Pappy appeared on the road. I don't remember the horse he'd ridden into Little Bend the night before, but the animal he sat on now was definitely different. This was a big, black stallion, spirited and full of the devil, and to my young eyes he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Bret dropped the stick and came running back to the porch, and we all waited for Pappy to ride up._

 _That he did, with the biggest smile on his face I'd seen in quite a while. Pappy had been on something of a losing streak, and even at that tender age I knew that was quite unusual for him. He dismounted and tied the stallion to the hitching post, then climbed the two steps to the porch and wrapped Momma in a gigantic embrace. "Beauregard," she laughed and shook her head, "where did you get that?"_

 _Bret was already examining the animal, and I was bouncing up and down. Pappy reached down and swept me up in his arms, holding me up high and laughing right along with Momma. "That, my dear, is the end to my long nightmare of losing. Otherwise known as the Ace of Spades."_

" _What?" Momma giggled. "You're not makin' any sense."_

" _You know how I been tryin' to figure out why I kept losing? Well, tonight everything fell into place. That new fella I been playin' against is a cheat. It took me a while to catch on; the sucker's slick, I'll give him that. But I caught him tonight, and I beat every last dime out of him. And when it was all said an done I even won his horse, by palmin' the Ace of Spades."_

 _Momma stopped giggling and shook her head. "Beauregard, you swore you wouldn't do any more of that when we settled here. Now you've gone and broken your promise. How am I gonna hold my head up in this town?"_

 _Pappy set me down on the porch and sounded kind of stern. "Isabelle, the man's been cheatin' me for weeks. I just gave him back some of his own medicine, is all. And taught him a lesson to boot. It'll be a long time before he tries that on somebody else."_

 _Bret spoke up then. "Are we gonna keep him, Pappy?"_

" _You bet, son. But I think we should find a better name for him, don't you?"_

" _Pappy's Ace," my brother suggested, and Pappy nodded his head._

" _Pappy's Ace it is," he laughed, and I squealed right along with him._

Ginny was shaking me. "Bart. Wake up," she insisted, and I was jolted awake.

"What?" For a few seconds I didn't know where I was, or even who I was. Then it all came rushing back to me, and I sat up off the floor where I'd been sleeping – and dreaming.

"You were laughing uncontrollably. I was worried."

"No need, Ginny. I was dreamin' about Pappy's Ace."

I got up slowly and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. "Do you remember what it was?"

I nodded and grinned at her. "I do. It was a horse; a big, black stallion that Pappy won in a poker game."

She looked at me like I'd lost my mind, but I hadn't. The dream may not have been exactly accurate, but it was close enough that it all made sense. I explained everything I could remember, and a look of partial understanding settled on her face. "But what . . . "

"Does it all mean?" I finished for her, and she just nodded. "It means there was definitely cheatin' goin' on, but it sure wasn't Bret's. If he palmed the Ace of Spades it was because Newton was doin' the cheatin'. And I suspect it wasn't the first time Bret caught him at it. That faro dealer I played with before Morgan showed up today? He was cheatin', too. What if that's how Newton makes his money, cheatin' at everything? Crooked from beginning to end, just like we always get accused of bein'?" I could see the wheels turning in her head. "That might explain the previous shootings. If Bret wasn't the first one to catch on to Newton's operation . . . "

"What better way to shut down any suspicions? It would certainly explain a lot. But what about Morgan's note?"

"It makes perfect sense if you think about it. Bret figured it out and confronted Morgan, promising 'immunity' for information. Are you sure Arthur wasn't in touch with my brother and convinced him to come here and help you with the investigation? It's the perfect spot for an honest gambler who knows how to cheat but doesn't." Arthur Stansbury was Ginny's boss at Pinkerton. We'd both done work with and for Pinkerton before; Stansbury had a habit of making it quite lucrative monetarily.

Ginny shook her head. "I didn't ask him. It never crossed my mind that Arthur would contact Bret directly. He's always gone through me before."

"Can you find out? I'll wait here for Morgan."

"I'll go right now and send him a wire. Don't let Morgan leave before I get back."

"Yes, ma'am. Now we're gettin' somewhere." She hurried out the door and I went over to Bret's bedside. Ginny must have wiped him down just before she woke me, because he was perfectly dry. Once I was seated I told him about the dream and that I understood what he was trying to say. I hope he heard me.

Ginny took longer than I expected, and Morgan still wasn't there by the time she returned. She didn't look very happy and I wondered what happened to disturb her. "What's wrong, Beauty? You didn't miss Morgan. He hasn't shown up yet."

She shook her head and put her hand on my arm. "He's not coming, Bart."

"Just because he's late? Did you see him? What's wrong?"

"I saw him, alright. Or maybe I should say I saw his body. On the boardwalk right outside the hotel. With two bullets in his chest. And whoever shot him knows exactly where he was going."


	7. Short Term Job

Chapter 7 – Short Term Job

The night passed quicker than I thought it would; Ginny spent a lot of it sleeping on the floor and I spent some of it sleeping in a chair. Bret was much quieter and more settled than last night. There was no more mumbling and the sweating was considerably less, although the fever hadn't abated any. I was awake when the sun came up, and Ginny wasn't far behind me. We were both nervous and worried about the upcoming surgery, although neither one of us wanted to admit it.

By the time Doc Wheeler got there with his assistant, a young woman named Mildred, I was pretending to be calm. Ginny was done with pretending and was desperately trying to hold on to any semblance of composure. Doc banished us from the room and we went downstairs to the dining room for coffee. The waitress tried to persuade us to order something to eat but we were having none of that; I'm sure Ginny felt the way I did, and my system simply would not handle anything that resembled food. When we'd had as much coffee as either of us could handle we returned to Ginny's room, two doors down from Bret's.

Time never passed so slowly. Ginny went back downstairs to see if she'd received a telegram from Arthur; nothing so far. Maybe it was still too early. We played poker and Maverick Solitaire; like all the Maverick men, I paced. I had Momma's Bible with me and read some of my favorite passages. Two or three times Ginny disappeared from the room for a few minutes. She could have been checking for a wire from Arthur, or she could have gone to Bret's room to find out how the search for the bullet was progressing, or a dozen other things. She didn't volunteer where she'd been, and I didn't ask. Once while she was gone my insides tried to use the chamber pot, but there was nothing in my stomach but bile, and it exited swiftly.

Morning turned into afternoon, and both of us were about to lose our minds when there was a knock on the door. Ginny opened it hastily to find Mildred, who gently told us, "Doc's done. Come back down." We followed the girl to Bret's room, in a hurry to get there and terrified of what we would find when we did. Doc looked like he'd been run over by a herd of cattle; Bret was lying in the bed in almost the same position we'd last seen him in.

There was a pile of sheets and towels in the corner of the room; Doc's blood-soaked shirt sat on top. He was buttoning the clean one he'd just changed into when we arrived, and he motioned us over to the far side of the room to talk. "Have a seat, I'll explain everything." Malone and I exchanged glances; that did not sound good.

"Did you find the bullet?" I couldn't wait any longer; I had to know what we were facing.

Doctor Wheeler nodded, but the look on his face said it all. "I did, but it wasn't easy. He bled so much, and it took a good long while to get it stopped."

"But he'll be all right?" Ginny asked.

Doc sighed; the expression on his face didn't change. "I don't know for sure, Miss Reisbach. I sure hope so, but the blood loss worries me. And there's still the fever to contend with. The next two or three days will tell the story. Get some water down him, and when he comes to try some broth. I'll be by before I head home tonight, around seven or eight if nothing else comes up. If he wakes up, try and keep him quiet. And if you believe in God – pray." He put his hand on my shoulder before he finished. "I'm sorry I can't give you better news than that. I've done all I can at this point. The rest is up to him."

Mildred and Doc gathered up everything they'd brought with them – and the pile of sheets and rags – and took it all away. I sat with my head in my hands for quite a while, silently asking God to take care of my brother and let him live. When I looked up finally, Ginny was once again sitting at Bret's bedside. From the expression on her face she was doing the same thing.

I walked across the room and stood behind her until she raised her head. "I . . . I have to . . . I'll be right back." That was the best I could do at that exact moment. I stared down at my brother, so pale and white, lying deathly still in the bed, and had to get out of that room. I fled down the stairs, out the front door and around the back of the hotel. There was no one there, not a soul anywhere around, and I sat down next to the building and cried.

XXXXXXXX

I was gone fifteen or twenty minutes, longer than I'd expected to be. When the dam burst as I sat in the dirt behind the hotel, it wasn't easy to just shut it off. There were times in my life, and plenty of them, when Bret was everything to me. Mother, father, brother, best friend, mentor, moral compass; and the thought of losing him was more than I could stand. I'd been through that once, in Dodge City, when I believed him already dead and buried, and I hoped I'd never have to go there again.

When I got back to his room I found Ginny standing out in the hall with the door open, and I understood the need to just step outside of that stifling small space. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it as I walked past, and she gave me a piece of paper on which she'd written a note.

 _Bart – I felt so helpless, just sitting there and waiting for everything to be over. And then when it finally was, and Doc told us he still didn't know if Bret would pull through, I thought I was going to break in half. All that waiting and watching for more than a week, first by myself and then, after you got here, I still felt so alone. Nothing I could say or do would change it. I'd seen him gunned down, just like some of the animals I've had to shoot, and all I could do was sit and pray._

 _When you left the room I tried to understand. Bret is your brother, you've spent your whole life with him, and it was almost too much for you to bear. I've only known him and loved him for a short time, and it was almost too much for me to bear. So I asked God . . . I asked God to take me instead._

 _Don't laugh, or tell me what a foolish woman I am. I already know that. He asked me to marry him, marry him outright and spend my life with him, and I told him to wait; wait because I had some crazy notion about . . . something that will probably never happen. If he asked me again I wouldn't hesitate; I would answer, 'Yes, yes, yes, today, tomorrow, next week, anytime you want.' I don't even know if he's ever going to wake up, or if I'll lose him before I can tell him what he means to me . . . so I offered the bargain to God. Because I'd rather die and leave him here with you, alive and well, than sit and watch him slip away._

 _It's in God's hands now. I've offered everything I've got to keep him breathing, and I pray that it's enough. Because if I have to live without him, I'd rather not live at all. So if you get to keep him, and I slip away unnoticed, it's alright with me. It will be the best deal I ever made._

I knew that bargain – I'd made it myself. But it wasn't until I read what she'd written that I understood just how much she loved him. I stepped back outside the door and brought her in from the hall, wrapping her in my arms and just holding her. I felt the wetness stain my shoulder and I knew she was crying. "It's alright, honey," I told her as I wound my hand in her hair and pulled her head back from me. "Don't cry, we're not gonna lose him. Besides, you're too late. I made the same deal with God a long time ago." I kissed her forehead and turned loose of her head, allowing it to fall back on my shoulder. I'd closed the door when I brought her back into the room, and now there was someone knocking on it. "Go away!" I yelled, but the knocking persisted.

I walked her over to a chair by the window and sat her down, giving her my handkerchief to wipe her face, and I returned to the door and yanked it open. "Your timing stinks," I said to the man standing there. It was the front desk clerk, and he held out a telegram.

"Sorry, sir, this was marked 'urgent.'" I handed him a coin and he gave me the wire. As soon as the door was closed I pulled the paper open and read it, then crossed the room again to give it to Ginny. I don't know what she asked Arthur, but his reply was short and succinct – ' _Couldn't locate Bart. Offered short_ _term job to Bret.'_


	8. A Good Sign

_Note to Readers: I'm having some health issues, so if I disappear for a few days I promise the story will continue when I return._ Chapter 8 – A Good Sign

"Arthur."

Ginny only spoke one word, but that word said everything.

I was feeling sympathy for Arthur, because Ginny was on the verge of being truly angry with him, a place I hoped never to find myself in. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"I'm sure he had his reasons," I insisted to her. "But it sounds like we're on our own now. At least until Bret can tell us just what it is he's discovered."

"I'm going to send him another wire; I'll ask if he heard anything from Bret before this happened."

I nodded. "Good idea. I'll be here waitin' for you."

Ginny seemed to have pulled herself together. Her eyes were clear and she looked determined to get answers. After she left I sat down with Bret and had a talk with him, trying to convince him that it was past time to come back to us. If we were gonna solve some of the problems that his shooting had generated, we needed him here – at least mentally, if not physically. I could swear he heard me and moved his head, as if trying to turn towards me. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.

A few minutes later there was another knock on the door. Outside stood the little waitress from the dining room, holding a tray loaded with a coffee pot and cups, and what looked like a plate full of sandwiches. "Miss Reisbach sent me," she explained as she carried everything inside and set it down on the table at the far end of the room. I took out a coin and tipped her, and she looked at my brother in the bed on her way out. "Sure hope he gets better soon. He's such a nice man."

"Thank you. I'm sure he will."

Once she was gone I poured myself coffee and actually ate a sandwich. I was on my way back to the bedside when a small moan could be heard in the room. I hurried over and sat down, and immediately asked, "Bret, can you hear me? It's your brother." To my amazement, another groan seemed to escape from him. "Open your eyes, Pappy. I need to see your eyes." A third moan, and it became apparent that he'd heard me. "You're alive; the bullet's out. I'm here, and Ginny's here, and we need you to get well and come back to us. Please, big brother."

There were no more sounds, however, and he seemed to slip back away from me. I couldn't help it, I was smiling when the door opened and Ginny walked into the room. She gave me an odd look and then saw the coffee and food on the table, and walked over to pour herself a cup. "Doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" she asked.

"A lot more than you think. He heard me, Ginny. I was talking to him and he heard me."

She almost dropped the cup. "How do you know that?"

"Because when I told him somethin', he moaned. And then I said somethin' else, and he moaned again. It happened three times, Beauty. It was like he was tryin' to answer me, and that was the best he could do."

She rushed back over to the bed. "How long ago?"

"Just a few minutes."

She stood next to me; the coffee was forgotten. "Do you really believe he heard you?"

"I do."

She grabbed my shoulders and almost climbed over me to get to Bret. I moved out of her way and she took my place at his bedside, reaching under the covers and grasping his hand. "Bret, honey, it's Ginny. Can you hear me?"

There was no response, but she didn't give up. "Bret, I'm here. I haven't left. Please let me know you can hear me. Please." She must have sat there for two or three minutes before there was any kind of reaction; when it came, it was the slightest movement of his fingers in her hand. She turned to me excitedly. "Did you see it, Bart? Did you see it?"

I nodded, never taking my eyes off of him. "I did, Ginny. I saw it." The feeble movement of his fingers could have meant anything, but I couldn't take that hope away from her. Right now she needed it desperately. She continued to sit by his side for the next few minutes, neither of them moving. I finally went back to the table and poured her coffee, before it got cold, and brought the cup over to her. "Here, drink this. You need somethin' warm in your stomach. Bret's not goin' anywhere."

She laid his hand down on the bed and held the cup with both hands. She was shaking. I brought another chair over to the bedside, along with one of the sandwiches. She drank the coffee but shook her head when I tried to hand her the food. "Give me the cup and take this. Time you ate."

She smiled at me grimly. "You first."

"I ate one before you got back. It's your turn. Come on." Finally she handed me the now empty cup and accepted the sandwich, taking a small bite out of it. She'd eaten most of it by the time the next knock came on the door. It was Doc Wheeler. A big grin spread across his face when he saw the small piece she had left.

"That's a step in the right direction," Doc commented as we both moved out of his way. "How's our boy tonight?"

"I'm sure he heard me when I talked to him. He moved his fingers when I asked for a sign."

Doc nodded, acknowledging what Ginny had just told him. "That's a good sign. The first good one so far." He proceeded to check Bret over, and almost looked pleased when he was done. "He seems more peaceful, not as agitated, like he's just sleeping. Let's see how he is in the morning."

"Doc." Wheeler looked over at me, knowing there was a question coming and waiting to hear it. "If anybody asks about Bret, don't let on that he's doin' better. Alright?"

"Even the marshal?"

"Even the marshal," I replied. "I think it's in Bret's best interest to let everybody believe there's been no change. I have my reasons."

Doc had been around long enough to understand what I was getting at. At least for now, Bret was safer if no one thought he posed a threat.

A nod of the head. "Alright, Mr. Jamison, if that's the way you want it."

"It is, Doc. Thanks."

"I'll be here in the morning, like usual. You folks have a good night." He looked at Ginny before leaving. "Mr. Maverick really is fortunate to have two people who care so much about him. Miss Reisbach, Mr. Jamison." The doctor tipped his hat and was gone.

Ginny looked at me. "You worried about Tedford?"

"And Newton. And anybody else that might be involved in whatever this is."

Agent Malone smiled. "Sounds like I've got a new partner."

I nodded, agreeing with her. "You've had one since the moment I got off that stage."


	9. Cold Coffee

Chapter 9 – Cold Coffee

I knew Ginny wasn't gonna like my idea as soon as I proposed it. "I think you should go play some poker on the Memphis Lady tonight."

She looked at me like I'd just lost my mind. "I won't leave him by himself."

"Not gonna be by himself. I'll be here."

"Why?"

She was thinking like a woman in love and not like a Pinkerton detective. And a Captain, at that. "Because we need to know what's goin' on, and you'll be a whole lot less suspicious than me."

"But they know I've been . . . "

"Here with him for over a week? That's just the point. Let 'em think you're losin' interest. That you're bored. That you've given up. That he's dyin'. Any of the above. Let 'em think whatever they want. We need information, and we ain't gonna get it sittin' here."

I could see the wheels turning in her head. I was right, and she knew it. We needed to find out what was going on out there, in Ben Newton's world, and she was much more likely to get a smell of it than I was. The woman was absolutely irresistible when she wanted to be.

"Something specific you're after? Or should I say someone specific?"

That caused me to shake my head. "Nope. We need to find out what's really goin' on, and who's involved. You try tonight, I'll try tomorrow. Let's see what we can come up with."

She was in her normal position at Bret's bedside, and she reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. While I knew it would be hard for her to be away from him while he was still in this precarious state, I thought it might do her some good. Hell, to be honest, it might do me some good. Of course, I wasn't goin' anywhere, at least not yet. I needed to know he was actually getting better, rather than just appearing to be getting better. He still wasn't out of the woods, and I wasn't leaving the room until he was.

It must have seemed reasonable because Ginny finally gave in. "Alright. I see the sense in it. I guess I better go get ready to play lady gambler." She leaned over and kissed my brother's cheek, then placed her hand on my arm. "Take care of him, Bart. I'll stop by before I leave." And just that quickly, she was gone.

XXXXXXXX

I was at his bedside when the door opened and Beauty walked in. That's my nickname for Ginny, and it was always accurate, but never more so than now. Hair swept up on top of her head, wearing one of the magnificent gowns she'd worn during the Busch affair in St. Louis, she was elegance and grace all rolled up in one delicious package. The only difference was her eyes, and I could see the pain in them. I hoped no one else could. "You armed?" I asked her, knowing full well and good that she might need to be, looking the way she looked now.

"Of course," came her swift reply. It was the Captain that answered me, and I could tell that her instincts and sense of duty were in residence. "You see what you can do about getting him to come back to us, you hear?" She leaned down to the silent man lying in bed and kissed his cheek, then squeezed my shoulder. "Wish me luck, partner," and she was gone.

I sat in that chair for a good hour before I even changed positions, thinking of all the crazy and foolish things we'd done as kids, and all the scrapes and escapades we'd gotten involved with as adults. I watched my brother lie there, sleeping peacefully, I hoped, and knew what a difference he'd made in my life and all the lives he'd touched. To say nothing of the life he seemed to have affected most profoundly, Pinkerton Captain Ginny Malone.

Needing to stretch my legs, I found myself staring out the window of Bret's room. Funny, I was usually the one with the corner location, thanks to the insomnia bouts that seemed to assail me with some regularity. When it's three in the morning and all I wanna do is sleep, I've discovered the most peaceful thing I can do is spend my time watching whatever town I'm in while it sleeps. It was nowhere near that late right now, but most everything was quiet, save for the riverboats. I wondered how Ginny was faring in her quest for information.

The sandwiches were stale, the coffee was cold, but I poured myself a cup and drank it anyway. Cold coffee is better than no coffee, particularly when you're waiting for your brother to make up his mind about life and death. I swallowed what was in my cup but never tasted it, thankful that for once I wasn't the cause of Bret's struggle. I walked the room once around, twice around, and came back to his window on the world. I was so absorbed in the town outside that at first I didn't hear the faintest of sounds coming from the bed on the opposite end of the room. I set the empty cup down on the table and turned the other way, walking back to my brother's side. That's when I finally heard it, so softly that he had to say it twice before I believed it. "Bart."

His eyes were still closed, and his body lay in the same position it had been in since the surgery, yet once again I heard the faintly murmured "Bart."

I bent over the bed, my face close to his, and whispered back,"I'm here, big brother. I'm here." If I hadn't been right there I never would have seen it – the corners of his mouth barely turned up as he attempted a smile. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," came out next, the faintest of assertions.

"Can you open your eyes?"

There was no reaction for a minute or more, and I thought he'd slipped away from me again. Finally I heard a faint "No."

"That's alright," I told him. "You just rest. Doc operated this mornin', he finally got the bullet out. He says you're doin' better."

I'd sat down in one of the chairs and held his hand in mine, and his fingers exerted the faintest pressure. "Gin . . . Gin . . . " I knew what he was trying to ask; her name was just too difficult to say.

"She's been here the whole time, Bret. She didn't wanna leave tonight, but I convinced her to go play lady gambler. She'll be back soon. We're tryin' to find out just why Newton shot you."

Another few minutes passed before he tried anything else. "Pap . . . Papp . . . "

"Pappy's Ace? I finally remembered. We know Newton was doin' the cheatin' when he accused you, but it took me a while to understand. That's enough for now. You go back to sleep and let us worry about it, would ya?" I was overjoyed that he'd finally regained consciousness, but worried that he'd push himself too hard to make sense. I felt that slight squeeze of his fingers again, and then they went slack. I searched for his pulse; it seemed stronger than the last time I'd checked it.

I sat there for another hour or so, Bret appearing to sleep peacefully. Finally I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer and, still clutching his hand, laid my head down on the edge of his bed. When Ginny finally came back to the room that's the way she found us, hand in hand and sound asleep.


	10. One Step Forward

Chapter 10 – One Step Forward

"Bart."

Once again I heard someone calling my name, but this time it was more than a whisper. And it was in a distinctly feminine voice.

"Bart."

I came out of the sleep cocoon I was wrapped in slowly. My mind actually became functional before my eyes could focus. While my vision was still swimming I questioned, "Ginny?"

I heard her answer and felt her soft touch at the same time. "Let go, honey." Her fingers were on my hand, gently unwrapping it from Bret's. I loosed my grip on my brother and felt nothing but the woman as my eyes cleared, and I could see her stunning face, full of concern. "Did something happen?"

"You could say that," I answered, pulling my head up off the bed and keeping my hold on her hand. "Bret woke up."

"He . . . woke up? How do you know?" Her voice was steady but her hand, the one in my grasp, was shaking.

"He talked to me, Ginny. Just a word or two, my name and yours. He tried to tell me about Pappy's Ace, but the words were so hard for him."

"Did he open his eyes?"

I had to shake my head. "He tried. I asked him to, but he couldn't. But he knew me, Beauty. He knew me."

She was still dressed for a night of gambling; she'd come straight here from the Memphis Lady. "Tell me."

I pulled out my watch. It was four in the morning. "Go get out of the costume," I told her. "I'll tell you everything when you get back." Once again, Ginny leaned down and kissed Bret's cheek before she left. She was gone longer than I expected, but when she returned it was obvious where she'd been. She carried a pot of coffee with her. "Good thinking."

"I didn't want you falling asleep," came her reply, and she poured each of us a cup before sitting down next to me. We both drank, hurriedly, and I repeated everything I could remember about my aborted conversation with Bret. When I was finished she had a big grin on her face. "Your night was much more productive than mine."

"Tell me all about it." She began her tale and this time I retrieved the coffee pot and refilled the cups.

"I got there right about nine o'clock," she began, "and the gambling salon was about half full. There were a lot of men playing faro, but not many of them seemed happy. I assume they were losing. It took a while for me to find the right poker game – Newton was there, and I wanted a seat at his table. I finally got one about eleven. He seemed surprised to see me, like we thought he might, and questioned me a lot about Bret. I tried to downplay what was going on but it took a while before he stopped asking questions. As far as he knows, Bret's still doing poorly. I let him think I had lost interest in Mr. Maverick. I watched him close, Bart, and tried to spot all the things you showed me to look for. I caught him doing about half of them. And he was winning most of the time.

"Nobody seemed to catch on to him but me. He quit playing about two when Marshal Tedford came in. They huddled together at a table for a while; Newton appeared unhappy and it broke up pretty quick. Tedford left the salon and I came on back to the hotel. Newton was at the bar drinking when I left the boat. He never said anything else about Bret and me after Tedford got there. Doesn't sound like much help, does it?"

I shook my head. "No, Ginny, but it's better than you think. Now we've got confirmation that Newton was cheatin' when he accused Bret, and that seems to be his pattern. And it sounds like whatever this is, the marshal's in it with him. You gave me some place to start."

"Tonight?"

"No, I think I'll pay the marshal a visit this afternoon. There's a few seeds I wanna plant."

There was a knock on the door, and we stared at each other. It was too early for Doc Wheeler and too late for anyone else. "Get in the closet," I whispered, and Ginny quickly disappeared. "Who's there?"

"Front desk," came the reply, and I drew my gun and went to the door.

"What do you want?"

"Telegram for Mr. Maverick."

I opened the door. It was the clerk with a telegram from someone that didn't know Bret had been shot. I took the wire and tipped the clerk, who went off whistling happily. At five o'clock in the morning. Hurriedly I closed the door behind me and called, "Ginny, come on out." Then I holstered my gun and opened the folded piece of paper. _'You old badger, what are you doing in Memphis? And how did you get involved with Ben Newton? Watch out, he's the biggest card sharp since Jerome Lewis. Let me know if you're coming to New Orleans. Fitzwater'_

Well, well, well. I didn't know Jimmy Fitzwater was still in New Orleans. And I also didn't know that Bret had been in touch with him. Fitz was one of those characters Bret had run across on several occasions, who languished somewhere between scoundrel and rogue. Good enough to play honest poker, Fitz still preferred to remain on the wrong side of the cards. Jimmy was always good for information, and Bret had gotten him out of a tight spot more than once. Jerome Lewis was at one time the best-known card cheat east of the Mississippi; he was shot and killed on the Bayou Belle a while back. By me.

"Read this." I handed her the telegram. She read it and gave it back.

"Who's Fitzwater?"

I explained Jimmy and noticed that she didn't ask me about Lewis. That must mean that she knew who he was, and how I'd come to kill him. Actually it was self-defense; he was trying to kill me at the time. "You know, it's beginnin' to look like Newton's buildin' an empire based on crooked gamblin'. No wonder everybody scoffs at the notion there are honest poker players."

"You think the shootings are tied in to the cheating." It was a statement rather than a question. Which meant that Ginny was thinking along the same lines.

"That'd be my guess. And Bret got shot because he was gettin' too close to the truth. Or he'd gotten proof. That's why the wire to Fitz; confirmation that he was on the right track. Who hired Pinkerton to investigate, anyway?" Very strange for the private detectives to be checking into something the law should be handling. Unless . . .

"Arthur didn't tell me. Maybe the mayor, or the city council. Sounds like they had their own suspicions about the marshal's office. I'll see what I can find out from the boss. He still owes me an answer for the last wire I sent, anyway." Most of the time Arthur Stansbury was forthcoming with answers when Ginny asked questions; this time he seemed hesitant to provide information. Was there more going on here than we assumed?

"I'm taking the coffee pots down to the dining room. You want another cup before I go?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Better bring another pot back, and a cup for Doc. He should be here soon."

It was the first time either of us was looking forward to Doc's arrival. We were anxious to hear what he had to say, now that Bret had finally shown some signs of life. Little did we know what was in store for us.


	11. Two Steps Back

Chapter 11 – Two Steps Back

The doctor was late getting there; Ginny and I had gone through almost the full pot of coffee by the time he finally arrived. There was just enough for a cup, and he was grateful. "Molly Malone had a baby girl last night, and I was on my way back to the office when I got called to Jewel Cole's to deliver a brand-spanking new boy. Sure would be nice if these ladies would coordinate their efforts." Ginny and I laughed, and even Doc chuckled. He glanced quickly down at Bret and asked, "Anything new to report?"

I was more than willing to share my news. "He was awake last night, Doc. He called my name, and Ginny's, and tried to talk some more, but it seemed so hard for him."

"Did he open his eyes?"

Funny, that was the same question Ginny asked. "No," I had to tell him. "I asked him to, but he couldn't seem to manage it."

"How long was he awake?"

"Maybe ten, fifteen minutes. Is that good?"

"It's an improvement, I'll tell you that. Anything since then?"

I had to shake my head at that. "Nope. And he's been quiet, not restless like before."

"Alright, let me take a look." Doc started working on his usual early-morning exam, and Ginny grabbed my arm.

"Do you think . . . he's better?"

"I don't know, Beauty. That's why Doc's here."

Wheeler took his time examining Bret. Just when I thought he was done, he checked something else. He kept going back to Bret's chest, and I was beginning to get worried. We had moved to the table in the corner to get out of Doc's way, and he finally put away his instruments and came over. He usually stood when he explained everything to us, but this morning he took a seat. He looked as old and tired as I'd seen him, and I wondered if it was the long night. I never for a moment expected to hear the news he told us.

"I'm . . . concerned. His heart doesn't sound right. Maybe it's just too many days of working overtime to fight the bullet in him, but it seems . . . well, erratic is the best thing I can call it. It jumps once in a while, then it seems to hesitate, like it doesn't know what to do next. And his fever is up. I'm gonna leave you some aspirin; see if you can give him one every three or four hours."

My own heart seemed to stop. I heard the words that Doc was saying, but they made no sense. Bret's heart? But his heart was fine. At least it had been, before Ben Newton shot him. Was Doc right, had all the days of fighting to stay alive taken their toll on the very thing that needed to work correctly to keep him that way? "What do we do, Doc? How do you fix him?"

"I don't know, Mr. Jamison. I don't know if I can. Right now, all we can do is wait – and hope for the best. Rest and time to heal will do him the most good; if his heart holds on. I'll be here later today to check his fever – that's my immediate concern. Try to keep him cooled off as best you can."

He reached across the table then and patted Ginny's hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Reisbach – Ginny – I wish I could give you better news. Don't give up on him, he's still got a chance to come out of this." She looked stricken, exactly the way I felt. I'd been so happy, so encouraged by his few minutes of clarity, and now this. Doc got up to leave and I followed him to the door.

"Doc, please – please tell me he's gonna be alright. I can't lose him." Even I could hear the panic and despair in my voice. Doc looked me right in the eyes, and I think it finally dawned on him – I was more than just a friend.

Mr. . . . what is it? It's not Jamison, is it?" His question was a formality; I think he'd already guessed the truth.

My answer was barely a whisper. "No. It's Maverick." I grabbed his hand before he could open the door. "Nobody can know, Doc. Please. He's safer that way."

He shook my hand as he told me, "No one will know, Mr. Jamison. Rest assured."

After the door closed I stumbled over to the table by the window, back to where Ginny sat. Our eyes locked and I saw in her crystal blue ones what she probably saw reflected in mine – pain, disbelief, anger, and slowly, slowly, something else. Hope. Resolve. Determination. Strength. Refusal to believe the things we'd just heard.

Her gaze shifted to the man lying in bed. "If you're gonna go see the marshal this afternoon, I think you better eat something first. And take a bath. You'll feel better." Her eyes moved again, back to me. "And I need to eat, too. Why don't I go down first, then you can take your time and get ready?" I heard her words, but more important I heard the tone of voice she said them in. It was steady, strong. It was a Pinkerton Captain's voice. And I answered her in the best Maverick voice I had.

"Sounds like a good idea, Beauty. Get on down to the dining room, but be sure and leave me some food, would ya?"

XXXXXXXX

Ginny, of course, was right. I did feel better after I got something to eat, had a bath and changed clothes. I spent the time while she was at breakfast trying to keep Bret dried off and planning just what kind of a trap I wanted to bait for the marshal, to be sprung on Newton when the time was right. I didn't have everything worked out completely, but I had a good idea where to start. It was still too early to go to Tedford's office, so I began teaching Ginny the finer points of faro. Like I said before, not my favorite game, but I knew it well enough to be able to spot a dealer that was cheating.

Ginny is a quick learner, and she picked up the basics in a hurry. So we sat and played faro, and then poker, until it was early in the afternoon. Finally I gathered up the cards and put them away. Ginny had asked me for a book she could read to Bret while I was gone, and I dug out one of my favorites for her, _'David Copperfield'_ by Charles Dickens. She responded favorably. "Oh good, I haven't read this one."

"You know Dickens?" I asked her, surprised that she seemed to.

"I do. _'A Christmas Carol'_ is a particular favorite of mine. This will no doubt keep us both entertained."

"I don't think Bret will care at this point. It's not the words he'll hear as much as the sound of your voice. That'll no doubt please him."

She smiled, took the book from my hand, and kissed me on the cheek. "Good luck with the marshal. Try not to get thrown in jail, would you? Or shot. I can't take care of both the Maverick brothers at the same time." The smile faded from her face. "Seriously, Bart, be careful. Tedford's most likely in as deep as Newton, and we both know what he's capable of."

"Don't worry, Beauty. My job is to convince the marshal that I'm no threat at all to him or his business partner. At least no legal threat. We'll see where it goes from there."

As I closed the door to the room behind me I could hear her voice begin, _"Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life . . . "_


	12. Come Back

Chapter 12 – Come Back

Marshal Tedford wasn't in his office when I got there, so I sat and waited. It wasn't long before he showed up, and I took a long, hard look at him.

Tall and lanky, he looked to be younger than Newton. Not as good-looking, but cut from the same cloth. He seemed surprised to see me. "Well, Mr. Jamison. I didn't expect to see you unless . . . does this mean there's been a change in Mr. Maverick's condition?"

I gave him an almost imperceptible nod. "Not for the better, I'm afraid." While that was the truth, I fully intended to stretch it quite a distance. "I came to see you . . . about another matter."

"Oh? And just exactly what would that be?" His tone was mildly curious, but his eyes betrayed him. He was way more interested than the voice let on.

"Miss Reisbach."

"What about Miss Reisbach?"

I hesitated. "I know some things about her that you and Mr. Newton might be interested in."

Now he was wary, which was just the way I wanted him to be. "Mr. Newton? What has he got to do with this?"

I sat up straight and gave him a 'sort-of' smile. "That depends. Is he your partner or your boss?"

That stopped Tedford in his tracks, and he glared at me across the room. "Come over here and ask that question again." I had been leaning against the door since I followed him inside. Now I moved over to stand behind the chair at his desk and waited.

"Is Newton your partner or your boss?" He didn't say anything, but I caught enough movement to know what was coming; I blocked the punch he threw and retaliated with one of my own. Mine hit its mark, and he staggered back. I waited until it was evident he wasn't gonna throw another punch, and I sat down.

He rubbed his jaw, still glaring at me. "Quite a punch for a gambler."

"Among other things," I reminded him.

He continued to rub his jaw, but finally took a seat. "Neither."

I shook my head. "Let's try that again. Partner or boss?"

"I'm a United States Marshal, Mr. Jamison."

"Come now, marshal. It takes one to know one. Who runs the show? Newton?"

"That's enough outta you. You're under arrest." He started to pull his gun, but my derringer was already in my hand.

"I don't think that would be a wise idea, marshal. Say, do you have a first name, or is it Marshal? Mine's Bart. Bart Jamison."

I got a one-word answer. "Sam." He let the gun slide back down into its holster before what I'd said to him registered. "Say, what did you mean by that, anyway? It takes one to know one?"

"Those of us on one side of the law are adept at recognizin' kindred spirits."

"Huh?"

I could see who the brains of the outfit was – probably the boss, too, but Marshal Sam Tedford wouldn't admit to that. "Gambler. Cardsharp. Con man. Whatever I need to be to get by." I'd played boss before, on more than one occasion, but this time I was strictly gonna be rank-and-file crooked. Let him think I answered to someone else. "Now, remember my question? Is Ben Newton the boss?" Tedford didn't say anything, and that question was settled once and for all. "So, back to my original reason for comin' here. I have information about Miss Reisbach that Mr. Newton will find quite useful. Tell him I'll be at the Memphis Lady tonight, playin' poker, and that if he wants to know more he should come find me."

"And if he doesn't?"

I stood up and shrugged my shoulders. "Then I guess he won't know, will he? Why don't you let him make that decision? Have a pleasant afternoon, Sam." Done with my farming duties, I sauntered out of the marshal's office. I'd given Tedford the rest of the afternoon to chew on what I'd told him. Now I had to wait for night to see if Newton took the bait I'd laid out for him.

XXXXXXXX

"Well?" Ginny asked as soon as I got back to Bret's room.

"No change?" I answered her question with a question.

She shook her head. "He seems about the same to me. He's still quiet, so that's good. Now, how did it go?"

"Did you know that Marshal Tedford's name is Sam?"

"Stop it!" Ginny punctuated her outburst by hitting me across the arm with the rag she'd been using to cool Bret down.

"Better get a new rag," I told her, before continuing. "They're not partners; Newton's the boss. I planted the seeds, like I intended. We'll see if Newton comes lookin' for me tonight. You sure you're okay with what I'm gonna do?"

"I'm sure. We can't just sit here until Bret wakes up again. Besides, this will be brand new for me."

"You mean . . . ?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. In all the time I've worked for Pinkerton, I've never played a criminal before."

I winced. "It's not a criminal. It's a con woman."

"There's a difference?" she asked.

"Certainly there's a difference. Criminals don't look like you."

"And con women do?"

I thought about Samantha Crawford and nodded. "Oh yeah."

"And how many of them have you known?"

"More than my fair share," I assured her. "But never one quite in your class."

Ginny laughed softly. "Just remember, I may need all the help I can get. Just in case I start acting like a Pinkerton agent . . . "

"I'll remind ya."

XXXXXXXX

Doc's visit in the evening was the same as the first one of the day. There was no change in either Bret's fever or the erratic actions of his heart; Wheeler was neither encouraged nor discouraged. He promised to be back the next morning, barring any more unscheduled births in town, and said goodnight to both of us. Once he was out the door Ginny sat down slowly in a bedside chair and gazed up at me. "How long can this go on?"

"I don't know, Beauty. Until he quits hovering, I guess." Doc had commented once before about Bret 'hovering' between life and death, unable to decide on one or the other. Now I was using the expression.

"I wonder if he knows . . . "

She stopped, and I finished the sentiment. "How much we want him to stay here?"

"Yes."

I gathered her into my arms to provide what comfort I could before I left for my night on the Memphis Lady. I knew just how much she was missing him, even though he was right there with us. ' _We need you to come back, Brother Bret,'_ I thought as I held her close and watched him over her shoulder. _'We need you to come back now.'_


	13. Not Today

Chapter 13 – Not Today

Tonight when I left the hotel I hired a buggy to take me to the Lady. It was foggy outside, and I wasn't taking any chances when it came to getting to the paddlewheel. The place was crawling with people; I was just one among many. I stopped at the bar and did something unusual for me – I ordered a whiskey. I hate the taste, but sometimes it's necessary to steady one's nerves. I wanted no doubts left that I was exactly what I'd told Tedford earlier in the afternoon – that I was a _'gambler, cardsharp, con man, whatever I needed to be to get by.'_

There was no trace of Ben Newton, or Sam Tedford, for that matter. I checked my watch; it was only nine o'clock. Probably too early for the owner. Lord only knew what the marshal was up to at this hour. I found myself a poker game and sat down; I was eager to find out if all the dealers cheated, or just some of them. I played for an hour and changed tables; an hour at the second one and I changed tables again. By midnight I had what I believed to be a reasonable answer, and that was 'yes.' I stayed at this table and watched in fascination. All of the dealers were quite skilled in card manipulation. I did what I had to do to avoid consistent losing, and had a nice little stack of money in front of me when the dealer abruptly got up and left. Ben Newton took his place.

He shuffled and dealt the next game, and when he finally looked up it was right at me. He was just as dapper looking as he'd been the first time I saw him, only he seemed to be in a much more jovial mood than he'd been in then. "Well, Mr. Jamison, I see you decided to join us tonight. Does that mean an improvement in your friend's condition?"

I didn't answer his question but asked one of my own, same as I'd done to Ginny earlier. "Where's Marshal Tedford, Mr. Newton? Have you spoken to him recently?"

He chuckled as we played. "I saw him earlier in the evening. He sends his regards." For the next hour there was no direct conversation between us – we simply played poker. Newton was quite skilled with the cards, and I had to stay alert to keep up with him. We traded wins back and forth. I had the feeling he was testing me, and from the look on his face he was quite surprised. After some time the dealer returned to the table, and Newton stood up to leave. For a moment I thought my bait had missed its mark, but right before he turned to go he threw an invitation my way. "Care to join me at the bar, Mr. Jamison?"

I nodded, gathered my funds and followed him back to the bar. He ordered brandy, I had a cup of coffee. It had gotten progressively louder in the salon and eventually I followed him and the brandy bottle behind the bar, inside a small office. It was blessedly quiet inside. "Have a seat," Newton invited, and he indicated a table in the rear of the room. I took my coffee and sat; he followed. "Tell me, Mr. Jamison, just what do you know about Miss Reisbach that I would find interesting?"

"I assume you know that she's really Captain Ginny Malone of the Pinkerton Detective Agency?"

He nodded, a smirk making its way across his face. "I've known that for days."

"Ah, but that's not all. Ginny Malone is actually my partner, and we work for Bret Maverick. Or rather, we did until you shot him."

In an instant the smirk had disappeared. "Doing what?"

I didn't enjoy pretending to be all the things that Bret and I so regularly get accused of being, but I seemed to have a particular talent for it. Maybe it came from that dark place in my soul, the spot I kept buried down deep inside, where it didn't bother me or anybody else. The part that almost made me an outlaw at age fifteen. Once again I found myself crossing over to the wrong side of the law; it was the only way that I could see to get into Newton's operation and find out who or what else was actually involved. I cleared my head of all my reservations and remembered that this was the man who had tried to kill my brother, and he needed to be stopped. By whatever means necessary, despite my distaste for the method.

It was my turn to smirk. "Whatever we need to do to make money. You name the con game, and we've pulled it. Bret was teaching Ginny to be adept at card manipulation when you shot him. I've had to assume the task, I'm afraid."

"But she's . . . "

"She was," I told him. "Ours was a two man operation until Pinkerton caught wind of us and sent Malone to see what she could do to stop us. They never counted on her fallin' in love with him. That was six months ago, and she's been workin' with us ever since. We were gonna take one last shot here in Memphis before headin' west. By the time they figured out she'd changed sides, we were gonna be long gone."

"How do I fit in?" So far he seemed to be buying what I was selling. I was hoping I was as good an actor as everybody kept telling me I was.

"You were the mark," I explained. "And then everything went wrong."

"Me? I was . . . how?"

"It was long and complicated, and I'm not gonna explain the whole thing. Now there's no plan, and we don't even know if he's gonna live."

Newton sat there for a minute or more, stunned into silence. Finally he asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because if Bret dies, I'm gonna need someplace to go. Someplace where I can do what it is I do best. Ginny might, too, but I'm not sure what she'll do if we lose him."

"And what if he doesn't die?"

I was ready for that question, too. "It's gonna be a long time before he's fit to do anything again. I need to eat. I thought you still might have a place for me."

"And all that nonsense about how Maverick doesn't cheat?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "What did you expect me to say? You shot the boss. I wasn't sure if you were on the up and up, or if you were . . . "

He interrupted me with my words of earlier today to Sam Tedford. "A kindred spirit?"

I smiled. "Exactly."

"And now?"

I was still smiling. "We're havin' this conversation, aren't we?"

He poured himself another brandy and offered me the bottle. I declined. "You've given me some things to think about. I'll get back to you within twenty-four hours."

"And the marshal?" I asked. I didn't want Tedford sticking his nose into anything, like continuing an unnecessary investigation. I especially didn't want him around Bret.

"No need for Sam to bother you."

I stood and nodded. "Good evening, Mr. Newton."

He remained seated but returned the nod. "Good evening, Mr. Jamison."

I left his office and the riverboat, but when I got down onto the street I had no desire to hire another buggy to return me to that dark and cold room. Once again I found myself walking the streets back towards my brother and the woman that loved him, back towards the Memphis Kings Palace Hotel. Walking away from the river and the fog, the bright lights and the laughter, the lucky few that won and the multitude that lost; walking away from the crooked gambling operation that was the Memphis Lady and the man that owned her. The man that tried to kill my brother.

I stopped and lit a cigar, the first one I'd smoked in quite a while, then blew the smoke out into the night air and wondered. What would Ginny do if Bret died? What would I do? Would it matter why Ben Newton was cheating every man that sat down at one of his tables? Would I care about one more crook out to ruin an honest gamblers life and reputation? Would it mean anything at all if I had to go back to Little Bend and tell one old man that his pride and joy was dead? Another draw on the cigar and I pushed myself on down the street, hoping with every step that I'd find something different when I got back to room two-sixteen, praying that it wasn't what I feared the most.

One of these days our luck would run out. Would today be that day? Or had it already happened, the day Bret was shot? I began walking faster, suddenly hurrying to get back to that hotel room. I had to know, and I had to know now. Please, God, not today.


	14. Welcome Back, Gamblin' Man

Chapter 14 – Welcome Back, Gamblin' Man

There was no sound in the room when I opened the door to two-sixteen, and I assumed Bret and Ginny to both be asleep. I was half right. Ginny was sitting in one of the bedside chairs, or should I say slouched in one of the bedside chairs, with her head resting on the blankets that covered my brother. Her beautiful flame-red hair was spread across the bed; Bret's left hand resting on top of that expanse of curls. I smiled at the sight, and then I took a good look at my brother. His black as coal eyes were open; wide open and watching every move I made.

"Bret?" I whispered, and in answer he blinked. I reached down and touched Ginny's shoulder. "Beauty, wake up."

"Mmmm?" she asked, and her eyes opened. "You're back."

"I'm not the only one."

"What?" As she raised her head she realized there was something weighing down her hair, and I reached over and moved Bret's hand. She sat up then and looked at me first, then turned to Bret and gasped. I wasn't imagining things, his eyes were really open. That's when she grabbed his hand and brought his fingers to her lips.

"Mr. Maverick," she murmured.

He tried to respond in kind. "Gin . . . ny."

"Better than the last time," I told him, and he attempted to grin. The very corners of his mouth went up but there was no dimple sighting this night. "You thinkin' about hangin' around for a while this time?"

"Yeah."

Malone reached down and touched his face; his eyes blinked. They closed for a minute, and I was afraid he was gonna slip back into unconsciousness, but he opened them again and his gaze was steady. He stared at me as if he hadn't seen me for months; I was grinning like an idiot, so it wasn't surprising.

"We've missed you." Ginny still had hold of his hand. I didn't expect she was gonna let go of it anytime soon. "It's been over a week."

"Ten days," I corrected, knowing that Bret's first question was usually _'How long was I gone?'_ "Let's not make it eleven," I added.

"How?" he managed to ask in a very faint, very hoarse voice.

"You don't remember?"

Those black eyes stared at me. I could just hear him saying, _'Would I ask that question if I did?'_

"Ben Newton shot you."

"New . . . New . . . Newt . . . "

"Newton. Owns the Memphis Lady riverboat. You were on board the night it happened."

I could swear he sighed. Whether that meant he did or didn't remember, I had no idea. And he certainly wasn't gonna be able to tell me. I was so happy that his eyes were open and he seemed alert that I didn't much care if he was capable of talking right now or not.

"Doc Wheeler will be here later this mornin'. He's the one been takin' care of you. Why don't you try goin' back to sleep for now, so you can be awake when he gets here? I'm sure he'd like to see you with your eyes open."

He must have agreed with me, or at least understood the suggestion, because he looked directly at me and blinked, then closed his eyes. It seemed like mere seconds before he once again fell asleep. Several minutes later Ginny tucked his hand under the blankets and got up from her chair. "Thanks, Bart."

"For what?"

"For waking me up. That's the best thing that's happened in almost two weeks. I'm glad I didn't miss it."

I changed the subject on her. "Did you get much sleep?"

She shook her head. "Just a couple hours. I was worried about him . . . and you. How did it go at the Lady?"

"Pretty good. I think I convinced Newton we were a bunch of crooks . . . He's thinkin' about me workin' for him – and maybe you, too, if Bret dies. I led him to believe that was a possibility."

"It is. It was. Just because he opened his eyes . . ." She shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. "So I'm officially a con woman, hmmm? I wonder what Arthur would think about that?"

I almost laughed. Arthur wouldn't care if she pretended to be the King of England if it helped solve a case. And Ginny knew that.

"Why don't you try to get some more sleep? Doc won't be here for a while and I can stay up."

She shook her head again. "You need the rest. You look like you're ready to drop. Go down to two-twenty and sleep in a real bed. I'll come get you as soon as Doc gets here, I swear I will."

She'll never know how tempting that was. But one thing she was right about – I felt like I'd be useless fairly soon if I didn't get some kind of rest. "No, I'll sleep on the floor. If I laid down in bed . . . you'd never get me up. And I wanna be here when Wheeler comes."

I got as close to undressed as I was gonna get with a lady in the room. Coat, waistcoat, shirt, tie, gun belt, and boots; then I burrowed down into the bed we'd made several days ago on the floor and lay my head on a pillow. I'd barely closed my eyes when Ginny was shaking me awake. "Bart, wake up. Doc Wheeler's here."

I was groggy and sluggish, but I pried my eyes open and got to my hands and knees.

"You alright, Mr. Jamison?" It was Doc's voice, and it was me he was asking.

"Bart, Doc, my name's Bart," I croaked out as I struggled to my feet. I grabbed my shirt from the chair it was hung over and put it on, then fought to get it buttoned as I stumbled over to the bed. "Sorry," I muttered.

"No need to apologize. I don't know how you're still on your feet, anyway. You need a long rest somewhere besides the floor." I brushed my hair out of my eyes and stopped just short of where Doc stood, at the side of Bret's bed. "So, he was awake and alert last night, eh?"

"He was," Ginny answered. "And he actually spoke. I heard him."

Doc turned to me. "I'm gonna try to wake him up. You have any objections?"

I shook my head. "None. We told him you would."

"Hear . . . you," the body lying in bed managed to get out as all three of us fixed our gaze on him. Slowly the eyelids opened, and those black eyes looked up at Doc for the first time.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Maverick. I've got some things I need to check here. You just lay there and let me do that, alright? I promise it won't hurt."

Ginny and I hovered around the end of the bed, trying to see everything that was going on, while we attempted to stay out of his way. After a few minutes Doc came down our way to talk to us. "Fever's down," he started. "But that's not the best news. His heart . . . his heart is nowhere near as erratic as it was. It still isn't quite right, but it's better than it was yesterday. He'll sleep a lot now, but you can start trying to get some broth and soup down him. Stick to liquids, his stomach's gonna be tender for quite a while. Don't let anything disturb or upset him. He needs to be calm and steady, so his body can heal. It's gonna take a while, but I think I can safely say he's out of the woods."

"Doc," I started, and couldn't finish.

"Doctor Wheeler, can you keep that news to yourself?" Ginny stepped in and asked.

"I can," he told her, and turned back to me. He put his hand on my arm while he told me, "It's alright, son, I understand. But unless an infection sets in, he should make a full recovery."

"Thank you," I whispered. It was all I could say.

"Come on, I want to talk to him." Next thing I knew, we were all gathered around Bret, Ginny and me on one side of the bed, Doc on the other. "Mr. Maverick, you're a lucky young man. As long as you stay in bed and rest, and do what these two people that care so much about you tell you to do, you should be fine – in time. You do too much too soon, and it will take twice as long, if it doesn't kill you. Listen to what they tell you, they're gonna be getting instructions from me. Understand?"

"I . . . do," Bret answered, hesitantly.

"Alright. Mr. Jamison, Bart, I won't be by this evening. I have to go to Manchester township to see a family down there. I'll be here tomorrow morning. If anything happens, Mildred will be spending the night at my office. I would trust her with anything that comes up." He turned back to Bret. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Maverick. Get plenty of rest."

Wheeler reached across the bed and shook my hand, then tipped his hat to Ginny. "Bart, Ginny, I'll see you tomorrow. You two get some sleep. He's gonna be fine." A minute later, Doc was gone. Ginny turned to me and threw her arms around my neck. She kissed me on the cheek, then turned her attention to Bret.

Once again she grabbed his hand and brought his fingers to her lips, then she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Welcome back, gamblin' man. I love you."


	15. Let the Games Begin

Chapter 15 – Let the Games Begin

For the first time since I'd arrived in Memphis, Ginny and I both had a good day. We actually shared a meal, courtesy of the hotel dining room; we each took a bath (separately, of course), and an afternoon nap. Bret woke up two or three times, had some broth and an aspirin, and went back to sleeping peacefully. I checked his pulse on each occasion and it was calm and steady. The only unpleasant moment came when there was a knock on the door late in the afternoon and a messenger delivered a note. _'Mr. Jamison – I look forward to speaking with you this evening on board the Lady. Please join me for dinner and conversation at eight o'clock in my stateroom. If it is at all possible, Miss Reisbach is more than welcome to join us. Ben Newton.'_

"What do you think about goin' with me? We could see if Mildred would sit with Bret while we were gone. I wouldn't trust no one else."

Ginny gave the suggestion some thought before answering me. "I think it would be better if you met with him by yourself. I wouldn't want to say anything that might create a question. Besides, with Doc out of town, somebody else might need Mildred more than we do."

I nodded in agreement. "You're probably right. We don't know if he took the bait or not. We could be at a dead end if he can't find a place for me."

A smile played across Ginny's features. "Oh, I think he'll find a job for you. You're too pretty to discard."

There was a muffled noise that sounded like it came from the bed; Bret was awake. "No comments from you, big brother."

"Bart?"

Oh, oh, I was in trouble. I knew the tone in his voice, and I wondered just how much he'd heard and understood. "Yes, Pappy? Do you need somethin'?" I was sitting by his bed when I asked the question.

He opened those black eyes and gave me a look I can only describe as confused. "Job?"

"With Ben Newton. Continuing the investigation you started."

"Care . . . care . . . ful. Nasty busi . . . ness."

I nodded, agreeing with him. Newton was a nasty business. But Bret still wasn't strong enough or coherent enough to answer any of my questions, so I had nowhere else to go. I patted his hand. "Don't worry, I have to be careful. My back-up is a little under-the-weather right now."

"Son . . . "

I had to chuckle at that. The man had been shot in the stomach, hovered between life and death for more than a week, just opened his eyes yesterday, and he was worried about me. "Listen to me, Bret. Ginny and I are in this together, and we're gonna get it taken care of. All you need to do is stay in that bed and get well, because I don't wanna do any of this by myself. And in case you hadn't noticed, neither does Virginia. So quit worrying and let us do what we know how to do, alright? I'd hate to have to explain to Doc Wheeler why I had to tie you to the bed. I don't think he'd understand."

I could hear Ginny right behind me, trying not to laugh. The next remark Bret attempted to make was aimed at her.

"You . . . too?"

"Darn right, me too. I want you well and back on your feet. Until then, you need to listen to your brother and let us handle everything. Now, how about some soup? I can go downstairs and get some for you."

"Not . . . "

Ginny shook off the answer Bret was about to give her. "Doesn't matter. I'll get some anyway." As she walked past me, she questioned me, "Coffee?"

"Sure," I told her, and she was smiling as she left the room and headed downstairs.

"Bart . . . "

"Better listen to the woman, Bret. You're awful important to her."

XXXXXXXX

I took extra care getting dressed for my meeting with Newton. I even broke out one of my black silk waistcoats and borrowed a ruffled shirt and string tie from big brother. He was asleep when I left, but I kissed Ginny on the cheek and jokingly told her, "Don't wait up for me, honey."

For just an instant I felt her soft touch on my face as she told me, "Be careful. If he's got something else planned we'll figure a way around it."

"Remember what you told me? I'm too pretty to throw away." She chuckled softly and I was gone.

Unlike last night, the night sky was clear, and I had plenty of time. It was a full moon and I'm rather partial to them, so I headed for the Memphis Lady on foot. I was there well before eight o'clock, and I sat down for a quick game of faro before dinner. I was still at the table playing, and winning, when a waiter emerged from upstairs and headed my way. "Mr. Jamison?"

"I am," I replied and gathered my winnings to follow him to the upper deck, where the staterooms were located. He opened the door and ushered me into a handsome room, well-appointed with elegant but understated furniture and luxurious looking fabrics. Towards the center of the room sat a small dining table holding crystal and china, set for three people. As I was being seated a door opened at the back of the stateroom and my host entered, dressed expensively as usual. The waiter removed the third place-setting and then returned with a bottle of red wine just as Newton reached his seat.

"Mr. Jamison. I see you couldn't persuade Miss Malone to join us, eh?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Mr. Newton. She didn't want to leave the boss tonight."

"How is he, by the way?"

"Holding his own, at the moment. With the doctor out of town, she preferred to stay close. By the way, my given name is Bartley. I prefer Bart."

"Ah, I understand that. Benjamin became Ben a long time ago. Would you care to join me in some wine, Bart?"

"I would, thank you. I assume you've given my request some consideration?"

"For a spot in my organization? Oh heavens no, I never needed to consider that at all. For someone as skilled as you appear to be, it wasn't a question of if I could use you. It was more a question of where I could use you. I'm still weighing my options, but please understand this – I would be very pleased to employ a man of your talents. Has Miss Malone decided what she intends to do?"

I shook my head. "I don't think she's willing to make that decision just yet." I took a sip of my wine – it was red and bold, with a sweet aftertaste. I was surprised that Newton had decided in my favor so quickly . . . but then again, I probably shouldn't be. As I said before, I seem to have a particular talent for skirting by on the wrong side of the law.

We ate a pleasant meal, and Newton gave me a minimal amount of insight into his business. Besides the Memphis Lady he owned another paddlewheel based in New Orleans, the Louisiana River Belle. At the moment she was operating on a strictly legitimate level; having lost her floor manager some months ago. He also hinted at additional enterprises in Memphis but gave me no specifics. I got the impression that he had his fingers in several saloons and I wondered which side of the gambling gods those operated on. Finally the subject of Sam Tedford came up.

"Just what is the marshal's status?" I questioned.

"Sam is . . . a silent partner. He's been quite useful when we've had incidents, such as Mr. Maverick's unfortunate 'accident.' He does tend to get more involved than practical, at times."

"Uh . . . accident?"

"Oh, you caught that, did you? Of course it was no accident at the time, but had I known the true nature of his enterprise, I wouldn't have acted quite so rashly. I had gotten the distinct impression that he was operating on the other side of the law – the one that would be happy to see me incarcerated for a nice long time. And when I saw him palm that ace I was sure he was employed by someone in a law enforcement capacity. So I used what has turned out to be erroneous judgment. Perhaps someday we will all be able and willing to laugh about it."

My first instinct was to jump up, reach across the table, and choke the life out of Ben Newton. I didn't think I'd get very far with that. A better idea was to simply pull my derringer out of its shoulder holster and pump both cartridges into him, right about chest high. I discarded that notion, too. I could beat him to death, and that idea stayed with me for several minutes while I contemplated all its ramifications. Finally I decided the best method of payback was to watch him swing at the end of a rope. Having faced the gallows myself at one time, I found an inordinate amount of pleasure at the thought of his hanging. I had to remind myself there was a lot of work to do before that could happen, and I forced my consciousness back into paying attention to what he was explaining.

" . . . I really would like to have you on board the Lady. You could run her for me, and that would free my time to venture into another area. There are vast amounts of money to be made in Memphis, Bart, and someone is going to make them. I'd prefer it in my pocket, as opposed to someone else's. How would that suit you? Running the Memphis Lady, I mean."

"Whatever you want, Ben. There is a particular faro dealer downstairs that needs to find a different line of work, however."

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"His name's Jackson. He's too careless with his handling of the games." That was the dealer I'd won from earlier. He really was too sloppy to be employed in the salon.

"How do you feel about firing him and taking over his game tonight?" Was this my first test? Or was Newton just agreeing with my assessment?

"No problem. How long does his shift run?"

"Until four in the morning. Unless there are no players, of course. Then you can close up at three. Be here at six tomorrow night and I'll get you set up with everything. Welcome aboard, Mr. Jamison." He stood and offered his hand for me to shake. I stood, too, gritted my teeth and shook. It might take me a while, but this louse whose hand I was shaking would pay for trying to kill my brother. One way or the other, he'd pay.


	16. The Conversation

Chapter 16 – The Conversation

"He what?"

I'd just explained to Ginny what Ben Newton had told me several hours ago; what I'd known all along. That the shooting of Bret wasn't self-defense – it was intended to eliminate any threat my brother might pose as a lawman. Because Newton suspected Bret was one.

"He's buildin' himself a nice little empire, Ginny, and he ain't doin' it honestly. Every single dealer on that riverboat cheats, whether it's poker or faro or whatever else is bein' played. Every single one. That's what's at the root of our problems, yours and mine. Anybody that suspected them of cheatin' got shot. Bret got shot because he caught Newton at his own game. He'll pay for that."

"What about the marshal?" she asked.

"He's just a stooge. A 'silent partner,' Newton called him. Somebody to cover up the shootin's, no doubt. There's gotta be somebody higher up involved for this to continue the way it has. That's what I gotta find out."

"Did you cheat?"

I'd been waiting for that question. I'd told her I played faro dealer until three in the morning, at Newton's behest, after the regular dealer was fired for being sloppy. I didn't like doing it, and I liked admitting it even less, but Ginny had asked me a point blank question, and I wasn't gonna lie to her. "Yes."

"Bart . . . "

I didn't say anything, just sat there at the table and swirled the coffee in my cup. I had no idea what she was gonna say next, but what came out of her mouth wasn't anything I expected. "You did what you had to do." She reached over and placed her hand on mine.

I nodded my head. "He's gotta be stopped, Ginny. If I don't do it, then my brother almost died for nothin'. I can't . . . I can't let that go."

"What about me?"

"I stalled him on that one. Told him you couldn't decide yet, and he didn't push. He seemed awful eager to get me into his organization. I'm gonna hafta play this one real careful, Ginny, until I can find out who else is involved. By the way, did you ever get an answer from Arthur? About who hired Pinkerton to investigate?"

She looked displeased, and I anticipated her answer. "No, not yet. I'll go down this morning and send another wire. Before we see Doc Wheeler."

"Speaking of Doc – how was Bret last night? Was he awake? Doin' any more talkin'? Did you get him to take that soup you brought back?"

Ginny laughed softly. "Slow down, cowboy, one question at a time. Bret did fine last night. He woke up a couple times, but he's still having trouble talking. It seems like it's hard for him to catch his breath. And yes, I got him to eat the soup. I got some sleep last night, too, but I sure don't know how you can sleep across two chairs like you do. I was back on the floor in no time at all."

"It's an acquired taste," I explained to her. "When you got no money, and no hotel room, you learn to sleep anywhere. On anything." That wasn't all there was to it, but I wasn't gonna explain the rest to her right now. When your brother's hurt and you need to be with him, sometimes you got no choice about where or how you sleep. That's the least of your worries.

We talked for a while, about nothing important, and when it got late enough Ginny left for the telegraph office. I sat at Bret's bedside for a while before I dozed off in the chair, and when I woke it was to the sound of knocking on the door. Doc Wheeler came bustling in, asking all his usual questions, and Ginny returned soon after. The exam went smoothly; Doc was pleased.

"Fever's mostly gone. I sure am glad to see that," Doc explained. "He should start improving pretty regularly now. Any questions?"

"What about his talkin', Doc? He seems to have trouble catchin' his breath enough to get whole words out." It was the first time I'd gotten to ask the question.

"Could be a lot of things; give him time to heal. If he's still having trouble in a few days, there's one more thing I can try." Doc had gathered his belongings and was ready to leave, but not before telling us, "I see no reason to stop by tonight. Keep doing what you've been doing, and keep making him eat. Try some soft foods next – scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes. See how he does with those. I'll come by tomorrow morning, and we'll see how he's doing then."

I grabbed hold of Doc Wheeler's elbow and guided him to the door. "I'll walk out with ya, Doc. I need a smoke." Out of the room and down the stairs we went, and once we were outside I did stop and light a cigar – and to ask one more question. "How is he, really?"

Doc set down his bag and chuckled. "He's really doing about what I expected, Bart. The breathing problem is a little troubling, but not surprising. I'm keeping an eye on it. You're just a bit too concerned, but I sure understand it. Like I said, give him time. I still believe he'll make a full recovery."

We shook hands then, and I drew on the cigar and watched him walk down the street. Doc Wheeler was a good doctor, and an even better man, and I was comforted by his words. I smoked the whole cigar and went back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. As I approached room two-sixteen I realized the door was open some, and I could hear Ginny and Bret talking. Rather, I could hear Ginny talking to Bret.

"You scared me real good, gamblin' man. I thought sure I'd lost you. I would have been real unhappy if that happened." She paused, as if gathering her courage to continue. "No, that's not true. I would have been devastated." She paused again. "You may not remember, but I saw Newton shoot you. I was sure you were dead . . . and I died, too, until that doctor on board turned you over and told me you were still breathing. I was with you day and night for a week, living inside hell, waiting to lose you for good, until Bart woke me up and your eyes were open. And I've been walking on the edge ever since. But now it looks like you're going to make it back; all the way back, and there's something I have to tell you. I love you, Bret, and I'm never going to stop, no matter where we are or what we're doing. Whether we're together or apart. I never actually gave you an answer when you asked me to marry you in St. Louis . . . well, I'm ready to give you one now. Yes, I'll marry you. Right this minute, or ten years from now. Whenever you decide the time is right. Whether I get where I'm headed inside Pinkerton or not. It doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is you and me . . . and a life together. So you let me know when you're ready, and I'll be there. And I'll never look back."

I felt guilty, standing there listening to what was supposed to be a private conversation. It hadn't been my intention, but there I was outside the open door. And then I wondered – was Bret awake? Could he hear her? Or was she doing what I'd done so many times, talking to someone that might or might not be conscious and alert? Just as I was about to make myself known, I heard something I didn't expect to hear. Bret's voice. Halting and stumbling, but stronger than it had been so far.

"Love you . . . too. More . . . than you . . . know."


	17. Pinkerton and the Texas Queen

Chapter 17 – Pinkerton and the Texas Queen

I made some noise outside and pushed the door open. Ginny looked up from where she sat and smiled. "How was your cigar?"

"Fine," I told her. "Is he awake?"

"Yes," I heard from the bed.

"Hey, big brother, Doc says you're doin' good. Feelin' any better?"

"Not . . . much."

"Interested in anything to eat? We can try scrambled eggs."

The next thing I heard from the bed made me laugh. "Ba . . . con?"

"Not yet, Pappy. Gotta wait a while for bacon. I can bring you some tea."

"I'm not . . . Beau."

I turned back to Ginny. "He's feelin' better if he's makin' wisecracks."

"I'll go down and get it," she volunteered. "Stay here with your brother."

"Bring me some eggs, too, would ya? I'm starved."

She looked surprised but covered it. "Anything you say, Mr. Jamison." Ginny walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, and left me with Bret.

I might not tell Ginny that I'd heard her, but I wasn't gonna keep it from Bret. "She had quite a bit to say to you, didn't she?" His eyes searched my face, looking for any sign that would indicate just how much I'd heard. I didn't make him wait too long. "You do still love her, don't you?"

I don't know if he didn't want to answer me, or it took him a while to decide what to say. When he finally responded the word was barely a whisper. "Yes."

"Are you gonna marry her now?"

"I don't . . . don't know."

"Alright, I won't ask any more questions. How about we play some poker? I need somethin' to take my mind off things." Playing poker was our answer to almost everything.

"What . . . things?"

"Why'd you palm the Ace of Spades?"

"Let you . . . know he was . . . cheatin'."

"By gettin' shot?"

"Didn't know . . . he'd shoot."

"Was the marshal there?"

"Marshal? No."

Bret grew silent, and so did I. We sat for a long time in silence, while I thought up more questions I wanted to ask. Before I could get any further, Ginny returned with food. We ate and fed Bret, and he went back to sleep almost as soon as he was finished. That was probably a good thing, considering he'd had a pretty complicated morning. So much for not upsetting him.

At long last, I remembered Ginny's trip to the telegraph office. "Any answer from Stansbury?"

She shook her head. "No, still nothing. I don't understand it, either. It's not like Arthur to ignore me."

"Maybe he's got a reason."

"What?" Ginny asked, genuinely at a loss.

"I don't know, honey. I need to get some sleep. I hafta be back at the Lady at six o'clock. Can I borrow your room for a few hours?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. "Sure. Two-twenty. Sweet dreams."

XXXXXXXX

Learning Newton's setup was very much like learning Orin Johnson's in Dodge. Once you had the basic idea it wasn't too hard to see how everything fit into it. You didn't have to be complicated to make money – especially when you were crooked to begin with.

I saw two or three little things that could be corrected, things that would make Newton's operation harder to detect. Much as I didn't want to help him cheat people, I needed to make myself indispensable to him as quickly as possible. There was no time to waste if I was gonna prevent any more shootings.

The night went relatively quietly, and I was back at the hotel before three o'clock. When I got inside Bret's room I was greeted by an unexpected sight – Ginny was in bed, on top of the blanket that covered the injured man, with Bret's head on her shoulder and her arms wrapped around him. Both were sound asleep, and I wondered how much pleading he'd had to do to get her into the bed with him. I understood that. It was much better sleeping in a woman's arms than sleeping in the bed alone. Especially when it was a woman you loved.

I let them sleep and took a seat over by the window. I hadn't really done any 'town watching' to speak of since I'd gotten to Memphis – I was too busy 'brother watching.' Even at this time of the night, or morning, the streets weren't completely dark. There were two or three saloons still open, and they spilled light out into the streets. Then there were the riverboats. The Memphis Lady and at least one more were still lit up, and with the reflection off the water they cast a bright glow on the Mississippi and the land surrounding it. It wasn't insomnia that kept me awake, I just wasn't tired when I sat down, and I had too many things to worry about.

In spite of my telling Ginny not to be concerned about Arthur Stansbury's lack of response to her telegrams, I really was worried. It wasn't like him to ignore his top agent when she asked for information. That led to all sorts of questions; they all culminated in the most obvious one – just who was it that had engaged Pinkerton to get to the heart of the problems?

What was I really dealing with? Who else was in this enterprise besides Ben Newton? I didn't even bother to count the marshal; he was nothing more than an appendage, an enforcer of sorts, someone to protect the man in charge. From the way Newton operated, there had to be somebody else behind the scenes. Someone with enough power and influence to allow him to continue to function as he had been, without worrying about the consequences.

It was just beginning to get light outside when I finally fell asleep, my chin dropping onto my chest and my mind deciding it had enough worrying for one night. As usual, when I had too many questions and no answers, my unconscious mind took over, and I dreamt an answer. But not one that I wanted to see.

 _How much time had passed in my make-believe world I don't know, but there were streaks of silver in my brother's hair. Even his wife looked a little older than I remembered her, but she was still a beauty. At one time she'd been a songbird, one of the very best, but she'd given up singing when she married Bret. Her name was . . . funny, I couldn't think of it at first. Oh well, no doubt it would come to me._

 _We were on board the Texas Queen riverboat, formerly the Memphis Lady, moving placidly down the Mississippi River. The boat was both Bret's home and his business, and a highly successful one at that. I couldn't remember how he'd come to own her, but I did remember that she'd been the property of Ben Newton, long since dead. Bret ran her up and down the river, never staying in one place too long, and his entourage included Lucinda (his wife – I knew I'd remember her name eventually), their sons Beauregard and Bartley, and the brand new baby, Isabelle Lucy. The boys' tutor was along on this trip, as were my wife and me. We didn't make every trip, but this one was special. Ginny and me were expecting our first child, and she wanted the baby to be born in New Orleans – the city where we'd finally admitted our love after years of working together._

 _It was odd, the way things seemed to work out. Arthur Stansbury had eventually persuaded me to come work for him, and he's the one that reunited me with Ginny. There'd been so many times in the past when we'd ended up on the same side that a partnership just seemed to come naturally. After a while, that wasn't the only thing that came naturally._

 _Somewhere down the years Bret and Ginny had drifted apart, and he found love again with Lucinda. Ginny was nothing more than my partner and very good friend for a long time, eventually drifting into a comfortable relationship of mutual respect. Then the whole New Orleans fiasco happened, and we found our very existence in jeopardy. When we expected to die in that last shootout, we finally admitted what we'd known for a long time – we shared a love for each other that had grown and deepened over time, in spite of my brother's continued presence in both our lives._

 _We didn't die, and actually emerged from the battle determined to carve out a life together. Bret was troubled at first, but realized he'd long since given up any right to Ginny's affections; he had a beautiful wife and a family that loved him. In due course he served as the best man at our wedding. Arthur Stansbury gave the bride away._

 _And now there was a baby on the way. Bret and Lucinda were thrilled and excited for us, but I was confused. What would I do now? Ginny had resigned her position with Pinkerton; Arthur wanted to promote me to Bureau head in New Orleans. I loved the city, for all it was and all it had given me, but I secretly dreamed of going back to Texas. I longed to settle down and live in one place, the place I'd grown up. I missed the little cemetery on the hill under the Desert Willow trees, where Momma and Pappy had been laid to rest long ago._

 _Bret wanted me to come aboard the Texas Queen as his partner, but I needed the earth beneath my feet. This whole trip I'd been trying to think of a way to explain that to him, but I'd drawn a blank. Right now I was standing at the railing of the Queen, looking out over the river as it passed by silently. I heard rustling behind me, and then a voice – Ginny's. 'Bart, Bart, it's time to wake up . . . '_

There was a blanket over me, and Ginny was gently shaking my shoulder. "Bart, Doc's here. It's time to wake up."


	18. Partners

Chapter 18 – Partners

We all agreed that unless something changed, Doc Wheeler would stop coming by every day. Bret was improving, although not as rapidly as any of us would like. The rest of the day I spent trying to forget the things I'd dreamt. They shouldn't have bothered me, but they did.

The next three or four days passed quickly; Ginny and I fell into a routine. I went to the Memphis Lady every night, and every morning when I returned to the hotel room I found Bret and Ginny asleep – sometimes together, sometimes not. Doc was right, Bret's breathing improved, and he began talking in complete sentences. The better he felt, the more restless he became and the harder it was to keep him down and in bed. At the end of the week Doc finally allowed him to sit up, and his questions about what I was doing became more persistent. He must have known I still had no answers, but I was getting deeper into Newton's business.

Friday morning I was late getting back to the room, and I found Bret alone and awake. "Where's Ginny?" I asked, used to seeing them together.

"I sent her off to sleep in her own bed. Poor girl couldn't keep her eyes open."

"I can't imagine why. You ain't the easiest man in the world to take care of."

"What are you doin', Bart?"

"Gettin' ready to get some sleep. You got any objections?"

"I mean with Newton."

"Oh."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're gonna get right now."

I was moving around the room, shedding clothes like a snake sheds its skin, and he was watching me. "Bart Jamison?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Maverick didn't seem like a real good name to use when I first got here."

"So my brother became . . . "

"A friend."

"It's time Mr. Jamison sat down and told me the whole story."

"I'm too tired."

A pillow came sailing past my head. "Well, I'm not."

I knew I wasn't gonna get out of it that easy. "Look, you lay in that bed all day. I'm exhausted right now. Let me get some sleep and I'll tell you everything."

"You gonna sleep on the floor again?"

I nodded. "That's the plan."

"Why don't you . . . sleep in the bed?"

Trust my brother to say something funny. "The bed's kinda occupied."

"What's the difference between me sittin' in the bed and sittin' in a chair?"

"Nothin' at all, but you forgot somethin'."

"What's that?" Bret asked.

"Gettin' you to the chair." I could see from the look on his face he hadn't thought about that. Bret hadn't been on his feet for almost three weeks, and I wasn't gonna try to walk him to a chair all by myself. Especially before Doc said he was ready.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you got a point."

By that time I'd gotten under the blanket in the makeshift bed on the floor. Even my back had gotten used to sleeping down there. "Goodnight, Brother Bret."

"Good mornin', Brother Bart."

XXXXXXXX

Doc Wheeler hadn't been by for a couple days, and he showed up later that morning just to see how the patient was doing. The first thing Bret asked was about getting out of bed.

"I think it's about time, don't you?" was Doc's answer.

"I think so, too," my brother replied.

"Are you sure, Doc?" That was Ginny, determined to be safe and careful.

"Let's get him up right now." And that's what we proceeded to do. Between Doc and me we actually got Bret out of bed and on his feet, and very slowly across the room and into a chair at the table. "How do you feel?"

"Like a newborn colt," came Bret's reply.

"You can sit there for an hour or two – no more – before you go back to bed." Doc was being cautious, which seemed like a good idea after everything my brother had been through.

"When can I . . . "

"Slow down, son, we just got you out of bed for the first time in weeks. Let's use our heads. I'll come by on Monday and we'll see how you are then." Doc turned to me with a smile on his face. "You always have this much trouble with him?"

"Nope," I shook my head. "I usually have more."

"He's going to try and do too much, isn't he?"

"Probably."

After Doc Wheeler left, Bret wouldn't let me forget that I'd promised to tell him just what he'd missed while he was struggling to stay alive. And what it was that I'd gotten myself into.

"You promised to tell me everything," he insisted.

"I know I did. Do you want somethin' to eat before we get started?"

"No."

"How about some coffee?"

Bret's ears perked up at that. "Can I?"

Ginny nodded. "Bart asked Doc and he said yes. I'll go get some."

"No, you stay here with Mr. Nosy. I'll go get coffee and food while I'm down there."

I hurried out of the room before my brother could object. After all this time, the kitchen knew just what I was after, sending me up with coffee and cups, and the waitress following me with sandwiches and soup. By the time we were done eating I knew I couldn't stall any longer, and after Ginny and I got Bret back into bed we took seats at his bedside and I began.

I told him everything that had happened so far, starting with Ginny's brief telegram. Every time I stopped or paused for water or coffee he peppered me with questions. "What did Newton say when he first showed up here? Did the marshal ever come back? Who shot Morgan? Does Newton own the Lady outright? How many dealers does he have workin' for him? What about the paddlewheel in New Orleans? Have you seen the books yet?"

I got one of his 'what were you hoping to accomplish' looks when I explained that I'd made us an unequal partnership until Ginny came along. With him as the 'boss.' That's when he started laughing and didn't stop until his belly hurt bad enough for him to quit. "It made perfect sense at the time," I explained. "And it got me inside his inner circle. I'm supposed to see the books in the next couple days; that's what I've been waitin' for. You got a better idea?"

Bret shook his head. "Yeah, but you won't like it – or agree to it."

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

"Get out of it. All of it. Before he tries to kill you, too."

I'd been waiting for him to suggest something, and I wasn't all that surprised. It was that 'big brother' instinct of his, even stronger than usual because he couldn't physically be there to cover my back. "Is that the only advice you've got? Cause you know I'm not gonna do that. He tried to kill you, Bret, and he's gonna pay."

Ginny looked up from where she sat and said very softly, "Amen."


	19. Burying the Hatchet

Chapter 19 – Burying the Hatchet

It was actually Monday before I got to see the books for the Memphis Lady, and by that time I was almost chomping at the bit. Earlier that day Doc Wheeler had given the okay for Bret to start walking around, as long as he didn't try going up and down stairs yet. Bret was ecstatic and frustrated; ecstatic because he could at long last move around the room, and frustrated because he still couldn't leave the floor he was on. He took great joy in walking down to Ginny's room with her; someone must have seen him because when I got to the Lady that evening Newton was waiting for me with questions.

"So I hear Maverick is up and moving around," the conversation started.

"He is," I replied. "Doc gave him the okay as long as he doesn't try the stairs."

"Have you told him about me yet?"

"What, that I'm workin' for you? He knows."

"Any problems?"

I shook my head. "Nope. He knows what happened, and why. Unfortunate accident, I think he called it."

"How long before he's ready to work again?"

"I don't know, Ben. Still a couple months away, I think."

He watched for my reaction when he asked the next question. "What about you? Are you going back to being his partner?"

I waited for a minute before I answered his question. "I don't know. We haven't talked about that yet."

"And Miss Malone? Has she made a decision yet?"

"Don't think that's gonna happen until Bret's back on his feet."

"I could use both of them, you know. Down in New Orleans."

"What about me?"

He laughed a little and shook his head. "I'd rather you stayed here. I've come to depend on you."

I couldn't decide if that was good or bad. It always amazed me that I slipped into this world so easily, the one on the wrong side of the law. And seemed to be so good at it. It had certainly come in handy on more than one occasion, though, just like now.

We were in Newton's office, and he'd just shown me the ledgers he used to track his profits. Pretty impressive, I must say. Primarily because of my experience with Sally Bodeen's books in Dodge City, it didn't take long to catch on to his methods and shortcuts. We were about half through posting the latest receipts when one of the bartenders called him away with inventory questions, and I assured him I could finish the work with no problem. It gave me a chance to see what else I could discover about his operation, including his investors. None of the names were familiar to me.

I wasn't sure if that was encouraging or not. I'd been so sure there must be someone of importance behind the scenes, but right now it didn't look that way. If that was true, where did I go from here? Maybe the answer was simple – maybe Ben Newton was the only one I had to destroy, after all.

I was hoping to find Bret awake when I returned to the hotel, but I was disappointed. The room was empty, and the only place he and Ginny could be was down the hall. I made my way down to two-twenty and stood quietly at the door until I heard something very familiar – Bret's snoring. Relieved he was safe, I hurried back to partake of something that had become unfamiliar – a bed.

XXXXXXXX

"Any ideas?" I asked my brother the next time I saw him, which was later that afternoon. I was genuinely puzzled by where to go next, and even a morning of sleep hadn't helped.

"Maybe you're lookin' at this wrong," he offered, and I waited for him to explain. Instead of an answer for me, he turned to Ginny with a question. "You never got an answer from Arthur? About who sent for Pinkerton to begin with?"

"No. And I asked him twice."

"Let's try one more time. And send it from me this time."

"What difference is that gonna make?" I know it was the obvious question, but I had to ask it.

"I don't know, but maybe he'll answer me."

I almost burst out laughing. Ginny was the only one that actually worked for Arthur, and he hadn't answered her. Why Bret expected to get an answer, I couldn't imagine, but my brother seemed sure of himself, as usual. So I went to the telegraph office and sent another wire to Stansbury, signing Bret's name. Then I went by the marshal's office, just to satisfy my curiosity. It had been a week or more since Tedford had shown his face around the Lady, and I wondered if something had changed with my addition to the payroll.

I couldn't tell if he was surprised to see me or not. He was drinking coffee and looking at 'Wanted' posters, and he glanced up when I opened the door and walked in. "You lookin' for me?" I asked.

"Would I find you if I was?"

"Nope. But it never hurts to look, I guess."

"Tell me, Jamison, if you're as slick with the cards as Newton says, why there's no reward for you anywhere."

"That's easy. I'm as slick with the cards as Newton says."

"Are you really? Or have you just been lucky so far?"

"A little of both, I guess. Why? You lookin' for a reason to arrest me?"

"I would if it would solve all my problems."

That was interesting. I wondered just what problems Tedford could have that my arrest would solve. Was I getting too close to Newton? To finding out who was really behind the organization? Or to finding out something else? Why was it the marshal wanted me out of the way?

"I haven't noticed you at the Lady for a while. Somethin' wrong?"

"Why? What difference does it make to you?"

I shrugged. "No difference. Just curious. You seem to have quit comin' around since I've been there."

"Maybe I've just been there when you haven't." Tedford had sounded defensive and sarcastic before; now he sounded cautious. Like he was waiting for me to cause some kind of trouble for Newton. Or to cause some for him.

"Look, marshal, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I didn't mean to step over you to get to Ben Newton. I needed money and I needed it fast. I could either try to work for him and stay alive, or work against him and risk my health, just like Maverick did. I chose the coward's way out and used you to get him to see me. Can we bury the hatchet someplace besides each other's backs? If we work together we can help the business make more money, and that helps all of us. How about it?" To emphasize my point, I stuck out my hand. Tedford ignored it.

"I don't like you, Jamison. What's more, I don't trust you. I think the best thing for you to do is get out of my office before I do find a reason to arrest you. And stay outta my way."

That was something I didn't expect. For some unknown reason I'd come to believe I should stay on the marshal's good side, and I hadn't done that. Had I guessed wrong when I said that Tedford was just a stooge? Could he be the real force behind Newton? If he was, I'd made a serious mistake. It wasn't the first time, but would it be the last?


	20. The Missing Piece

Chapter 20 – The Missing Piece

It took me the rest of the week to track down all of Newton's backers and investigate them. And when I was finished with that task I was left with exactly what I'd had before I started – nothing. Not one of the names in his books were anything but local businessmen, small-time investors out to make a buck or two. No one of influence in Memphis or elsewhere. I was at a dead end.

In the meantime Bret's health continued to improve. By the end of the week Doc cleared him to go up and down the stairs, and he was as happy as I'd seen him in a long time. Ginny and Bret were together every spare minute, at least when I wasn't on board the Memphis Lady, and the Pinkerton agent looked almost as delighted as my brother. Now if I could only figure out what I'd missed, all three of us could get on with our lives – and out of Memphis.

Why did I continue working for Ben Newton? I still had too many questions with no answers, and I kept hoping I'd find something that would point me in the right direction. I was grasping at straws, and I knew it. So I was ready for anything the afternoon I walked back from the barber and saw Marshal Tedford coming down the street, right towards me. I was determined to be congenial and friendly, hoping against hope that I could get some kind of a lead from him. I hadn't seen him since the confrontation in his office, and I didn't understand his dislike – unless I was a threat.

I didn't get a chance to find out. As soon as Tedford saw me he crossed the street and ducked into the tobacco shop. For just a moment my instinct was to do the same, but something prevented me. I walked on down to the Memphis Lady instead and went looking for Newton. Maybe I could gain some insight from him into Sam Tedford's attitude. There was something distinctly odd about the marshal's reaction to me, even if he didn't like me.

I found Ben in his office, but it looked like he was getting ready to leave. "Hey, Bart, it's awful early for you, isn't it?"

"Just couldn't stay away, Ben. Actually, I came to ask you a question. But it looks like you're leavin'."

"I am. I'm going to one of the saloons, they've been having some trouble. Walk with me?"

I hadn't seen any of the saloons, so I went with him. Ben Newton wouldn't have been such a bad fellow if he wasn't a cheat, and a crook, and a murderer. He reminded me of Morgan Everton. That wasn't a compliment.

We headed down to Fancy Lil's and talked along the way. "What kind of trouble?"

"What?"

"What kind of trouble?" I repeated.

"I don't know for sure. I got a message from one of the bartenders that something had gone wrong and needed my attention. He didn't say what."

"I came to ask you about Sam Tedford. You seen him lately?"

"Yes, I saw him . . . now wait. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him for a while. Not much since you . . . is there something I should know about?"

For once, I was perfectly honest with him. "I don't know, Ben. He seems to be avoiding me. I thought maybe you might know why."

Newton shook his head. "No, I've no idea. You play poker with him?"

"Uh . . . no. Why?"

"He takes his poker real serious. I thought maybe you beat him and he didn't like it."

That gave me an idea. "Maybe he thinks I took a job that should be his."

"Sam? Sam doesn't work for me. What gave you that idea?"

Sam Tedford . . . didn't work for Ben Newton. Now I was really confused. "He doesn't? Then why . . . "

"Did he pass along your message? He did it as a favor to me. I've known Sam for a long time. I saved his life once. That was before . . . but Sam doesn't work for me. He never has."

I'd made a major mistake, and I needed to rethink this whole set-up. The best thing I could do right now was get myself out of there before I said or did something unrepairable. Trouble was, we were already at Lil's.

Just as we went through the batwing doors a shot rang out, followed quickly by a second shot, and a scream from one of the saloon girls. I wasn't wearing my Colt, so I pulled the derringer just in case. Not much protection, but better than nothing. What greeted us wasn't pretty.

Marshal Tedford was standing at the end of the bar, bleeding. Which is what the cowboy lying on the floor was doing, too, only it was too late to worry about him. Tedford had been shot in the right side and looked ready to collapse. Instinct kicked in, and I half dragged him to the doctor's office, just down the street. "Doc Wheeler!" I yelled as we came through the front door.

"Bart, what the devil . . . marshal, what happened? Get him in here, Bart." I did as instructed; I was glad it wasn't me that was shot. As I helped the marshal up on the exam table, I thought about how many times I'd done the same for Bret. "What happened?" Doc repeated, this time to me.

"I don't know, Doc. It was all over by the time I got there."

"Help me roll him over, would you?" Doc asked me, and I obliged. Once that was done I headed back to Lil's, and by the time I got there two men were carrying what was left of the cowboy out the door. Newton was behind the bar, helping the bartender pour free drinks for everyone.

"How's Sam?"

"He should be alright. Didn't look like the bullet got anything too important. Did you find out what happened?"

Newton nodded as he poured another drink. "Cowboy started raising hell, said he was being cheated. Marshal heard the ruckus and tried to settle it down; you saw how it ended. You take him to Wheeler's?"

"Yeah. You need me to stay for anything?" I'd had enough excitement and confusion for one day, and I wanted some time to think before I went back to the Lady tonight. I needed to re-examine what I'd concluded about Newton and his operation, and the way I thought the marshal fit in. Especially since it appeared I had it figured all wrong.

"No, it's under control. Catch you later."

I wandered back to the hotel, hoping that being out in the fresh air might clear my head and help me to see somethin' that had to be right under my nose. Nothing seemed to help, though, and I'd almost decided figuring this one out might be hopeless. Admitting defeat wasn't easy, and I came to the conclusion that it was time for a talk with Bret and Ginny. They weren't in either room at the hotel, and I sat in the dining room and drank coffee, hoping to catch them when they got back.

It was almost time for me to leave for one more night at the Memphis Lady when they finally came through the hotel doors. They were about as quiet as I'd seen them for a while, but Bret broke into a grim smile when he spotted me. "Come upstairs," was all he said, and I paid my bill and followed them back to room two-sixteen. I'd barely gotten the door closed when Bret handed me a telegram. "From Arthur, finally."

I read it over once, twice, and couldn't believe my eyes. The news we'd waited so long for was right in front of me, and it made perfect sense why Arthur hadn't answered us any earlier. The wire read: _'Pinkerton services were contracted by the Memphis Marshal, Sam Tedford.'_


	21. Truth Will Out

Chapter 21 – Truth Will Out

Sure got that one backwards, didn't I? Matter of fact, that's exactly what I asked Bret after I'd read the telegram for the third time.

"Kinda looks that way," was his succinct answer. "Don't feel bad. I was just as surprised as you are."

"Changes everything," I told him.

"It doesn't make sense," Ginny added. "When he found out I was Pinkerton before you got here, why didn't he tell me? And why did it take Arthur so long to answer us?"

"I don't know. I just hauled the marshal over to Doc Wheeler's office with a bullet in him."

"You didn't shoot him, did you?" my brother asked.

"Nope. Cowboy that shot him's dead. Big dispute at Fancy Lil's. I walked in just after it happened."

"Was Newton involved?" This question came from Ginny.

"No, but Lil's belongs to him. Funny thing is, I was with Newton because I wanted some information about Tedford. I was sure he worked for Ben. He doesn't, never has. Now I understand why. If he's the one that sent for Pinkerton . . . "

"But why did Arthur wait so long to answer us?"

"Because the marshal wouldn't have trusted anyone, if he was desperate enough to send for Pinkerton. And if we knew we might have let it slip to someone. Arthur couldn't take the chance."

Ginny looked at me with dismay. "Even me? After all this time, he didn't trust me?'

Bret answered her. "I don't think it had anything to do with trust, honey."

"Look," I interrupted, "I've gotta go. I'm gonna stop by Doc's and see how the marshals doin'. If I can talk to him, I will. If not, I'll get him tomorrow. It's time he knew we're on his side. You two behave, would ya? This ain't over yet."

"Yes, sir." From my smart-aleck brother.

"We still gotta figure out a way to catch Newton. Before anybody else gets shot."

"We'll work on that. You wake us when you get back."

I nodded and grabbed my hat, then hurried out the door and down the stairs. Doc's office wasn't far, and Mildred was out front when I got there. She ushered me into an exam room; when Doc finished with his patient he came in and seemed surprised to see me back so soon. "Something wrong with Bret?"

"No, Doc, I came to see about the marshal. How is he?"

He gave a soft chuckle. "Just like the rest of you. He paid no attention to me when I told him to stay here; he's already gone."

"So he's alright?"

"If the stitches don't break open, he will be. Why the sudden interest in Sam?"

"I'll explain later. I'm gonna be late."

I managed to get to the paddlewheel without too much trouble. Newton still hadn't returned from Lil's, so I had time for coffee and contemplation. I sure did have things the wrong way round, and now I was gonna hafta rethink everything. The fact that the marshal had sent for help from Pinkerton told me several things – he didn't trust his deputies or the federal marshal, which led me to the conclusion that one or more were on the Newton payroll. No wonder there'd been no arrests in the Memphis Lady shootings. Including my brother's.

I'd been so focused on who was backing the head man that I hadn't done anything about the obvious – gathering physical evidence that the operation was crooked, set up to do nothing but cheat people from beginning to end. I'd seen documents that would help prove that assertion, but I hadn't given any thought to getting my hands on them and getting them off the paddlewheel. Before I could go any further with that line of reasoning, Newton finally came on board, and I spent the next few hours doing my 'job.'

Another late night; it was almost four in the morning before I could get away. I headed straight for the marshal's office, hoping to find him alone. My luck held – there was no one but Tedford at the jail when I got there. I wasn't sure what kind of reception I was gonna get, so I didn't say anything until I sat down in the chair next to his desk. "Thought I'd come by and see how you were."

"I'm alright. Thanks for the help earlier tonight." He sounded a whole lot friendlier than he had the last time I talked to him.

"Had to get you to Doc's office. You were doin' a pretty good job of bleedin'."

"And I appreciate that. Ben send you over to see if I was still alive?"

"No. I didn't tell him I was comin'. I came to talk to you about Maverick."

He wasn't expecting that, I could tell from his reaction. "Maverick? What about him? I heard he was doin' well. He got anything to say to me about cheatin'?"

"No, but I do."

"What could you have to say that you haven't already said, Jamison?"

It was time to quit playing games. "My name's not Bart Jamison, marshal. It's Bart Maverick."

"Bart . . . no wonder you were so sure he wasn't cheatin'."

"That's what I came to tell you. He did palm the Ace of Spades. It was a signal to me."

"Newton told me the two of you worked together. Along with Agent Malone."

"Newton told you what I told him. Only part of it's true." I waited for that to sink in before I continued. "Bret and I have worked with Malone before. On several cases. As Pinkerton agents, not con men or cardsharps. The same Pinkerton agents you sent for."

He sat there and stared at me for what seemed like an hour. Finally he cracked the smallest smile. "How'd you convince Ben you knew how to cheat?"

"Because I do, I just don't use it. Pappy is a gambler – an honest gambler. Bret and I grew up playin' poker. We learned all the tricks the cardsharps know. He wasn't hard to fool."

"So Malone's a straight shooter too, huh?"

I nodded. "She's the one that was sent here to help you. Bret was waitin' to meet me in Memphis when he ran across Ginny and tried to help. It got him shot, and she wired me. I figured out what he was tryin' to do and played it this way to protect him."

"Now that he's recoverin', what's in it for you?"

My turn to grin. "With any luck, I'll get to see Newton hang."


	22. Guilty

Chapter 22 – Guilty

"So I told him who I really was. And I let him think that we were all Pinkerton." I didn't have to wake either of my 'roommates' when I finally got back to the hotel. Bret gave me a look; I'm sure it was over the Pinkerton remark. "Settle down, Brother Bret, it was just easier that way."

Ginny ignored Bret and focused on the marshal instead. "Did he tell you anything we could use?"

I shook my head. "Not much. One of the deputies came in and Tedford pretty much stopped talkin'. Said he's comin' up here today to question Bret about the shootin'. That was about all."

"At least we'll have a chance to talk to him."

I still had some work to do, and I had to figure out a way to get it done. The ledgers and reports I'd seen while managing the books for Newton could provide me with a list of non-employees on his payroll. Also, there were documents that outlined the way he'd set everything up to operate in the salon and with the individual dealers. Some of what I needed was in his desk; he kept another of the ledgers in the safe. I had to get everything out of Newton's office, but I couldn't manage that until Tedford was ready to arrest him. If I removed the documents too soon and it was discovered, I was probably a dead man. I had an idea, but I needed to work it all out before finalizing the plan. It was going to require a distraction, and I was hoping Ginny would be able to provide that.

The three of us went down to eat after the dining room opened; it was the first time we'd eaten breakfast together since I'd come to Memphis. It all seemed oddly normal. Just as we were finishing Sam Tedford entered the hotel. Stairs were still slow going for Bret, especially walking up them, but the marshal followed us back to room two-sixteen.

"Agent Malone." Tedford tipped his hat to Ginny, then turned to Bret and me and stuck out his hand. "Mr. Maverick and Mr. Maverick. Glad to finally meet all of you."

"Have a seat, marshal," Bret invited, and Sam took the empty chair at the table next to the Maverick boys, across from Agent Malone.

"I'm sorry it's taken so long for this meeting to happen," Ginny began. "We didn't know it was you that sent for help."

"It's my fault. I asked Mr. Stansbury not to tell anyone my identity. I didn't know who to trust. And after I heard the story from Ben about you two being con men and Agent Malone working with you, I had to keep my mouth shut. How'd this all come about, anyway?"

Bret started the tale. "Bart and I were supposed to meet in Memphis; I got here first and ran into Ginny. When she was introduced to me as Miss Reisbach, I knew she was on a case and stuck my nose in to help. Newton shot me before I had much of a chance to do anything."

"Just out of curiosity – were you cheatin'?"

I waited to see Bret's reaction, but he remained relatively subdued. "Not until I palmed the Ace of Spades. I was about to get arrested by one of your deputies, and I knew Bart would understand what I meant – that Newton was the one cheatin'. I wasn't tryin' to get shot."

That's when I stepped in. "Ginny wired me and I got here as fast as I could. I wasn't aware of the whole situation when Doc showed up to see Bret, and I introduced myself as Jamison. Understood the Ace of Spades clue from Bret and invented a whole story to sell to Newton. Figured if I could get inside his operation I could see what was really goin' on. I thought you were part of Newton's payroll. I guess we both had some wrong ideas."

"And you're still workin' for Newton. Have you seen anything that'll prove the whole operation is a sham? He's gotta be shut down before he gets so big that he controls the whole city." For the first time I heard real emotion in his voice; he seemed serious about loosening Newton's hold on Memphis.

His question deserved an answer, and I was the only one with one of those. "There's evidence that'll put him behind bars for a long time. It's all in his office, in a couple different places. I can get it out when the time comes, but I'll need help. There's nothin' to tie him to the shootings, though, except the attempted murder of Bret. And that's what he'll hang for, if we can prove it. Tell us about these witnesses you interviewed."

For the next hour we talked about the people on the marshal's list. They consisted of two deputies that were on Newton's payroll and had been in the salon that night, three of his dealers, and the head bartender. They all told the same story – Bret was going for his gun when Newton drew and fired. Ginny was the only one who'd spoken the truth, and she was both prejudiced and outnumbered. Finally Bret spoke up. "Any chance of gettin' one of 'em to tell the truth?"

"None that I see," Sam offered. "Looks like the only way to arrest Newton for attempted murder is to get him to own up to it. And good luck with that."

There was an idea forming in my head, but I needed to give it some more thought before I said anything. Besides, it was risky at best; it involved luck and subterfuge. The kind I seemed good at. "Can you talk to 'em all again?" I asked. "Make 'em think you've found another eyewitness tellin' a different story? See if you can shake anybody? And let me know if you find somebody that's even a little questionable."

Bret gave me another one of his 'what are you up to now' looks, which I ignored. Sam thought over my request for a minute or two and then nodded. "There's one that just might . . . one of the dealers. Give me a day or two."

That gave the marshal and me both something to work on. I was more than happy to keep Bret, and Ginny, out if it until the very end. I'd done enough to make a mess of this one, and I had some fixing to do.

That night when I went back to the Memphis Lady, Ben Newton was waiting for me. He had eyes everywhere, because he knew the marshal had been to see us at the hotel. "So, Sam just come to be nosy?"

"No, he came to question Bret."

"About?"

"The shootin', what else?"

"Not much Maverick could tell him, was there?"

I shrugged. "Not really."

A minute or two passed while we stood at the bar in what had become a nightly ritual. I drank a cup of coffee and Newton had a shot of whiskey. It was usually quiet at this time of the day, at least for a little while longer, and we took a few minutes to talk about anything that had come up since I left the night before. I didn't think there was much more to discuss on the subject, but Ben had his teeth in this one and was gonna shake it like a dog with a new bone.

"Did he admit to cheating?"

"Why would he? Tedford don't need to know about that."

Ben seemed indignant, like I'd insulted him. "So I'm exonerated."

Exonerated? He wants to be exonerated? I felt my stomach clench and had to do some fast talking to keep from revisiting breakfast. The next instinct I had was to pull my Colt and empty it into Ben Newton, but I'd gotten as close to the end of a rope as I ever wanted to and I kept reminding myself of that moment on the steps in Silver Creek. I started to shake and turned to Al, the bartender standing across from me. "Pour me a whiskey, Al," I instructed him.

Ben shifted his gaze from his glass to my face. "I say something wrong?"

I forced myself to keep my voice, at least, as calm as I could. Despite my desire to commit murder. "Is that really necessary? You did shoot him."

Like an unjustly accused child, Newton protested, "But he cheated."

"So did you," I reminded him. I swallowed the shot and set the glass down. Al looked at me, and I shook my head 'no.' It seemed like a good time to walk away from the bar, and that's just what I did. The next time I saw Ben I was dealing Five Card Draw at one of the tables, and he took the empty seat to my left. We played poker for over an hour before he said anything. In that length of time he hadn't won a hand, and the house hadn't lost.

"Quite a run you've got going," he finally remarked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "That happens sometimes."

He still seemed to be in the same peculiar mood he was in at the bar, and I wondered if this was how he'd been behaving the night he shot Bret. He played another hand, which the house happened to lose, and he smiled slightly and got up from the table. "I think I've had enough for one night. Good night, Mr. Jamison." In just a minute he was gone, and I knew that my time at the Memphis Lady was, of necessity, growing short. I hoped that Tedford had managed to persuade one of his witnesses to tell the truth, because if I didn't get out of here soon I'd end of being the one on trial for murder. And this time I'd be guilty.


	23. Jonesboro Bound

Chapter 23 – Jonesboro Bound

I didn't see Newton again that night. I was relieved, to tell you the truth. His insistence on being 'exonerated' of shooting my brother bothered me. If I hadn't been so damn tired I would have stopped at the marshal's office to see if he'd made any progress with the witness we'd discussed.

I went back to the hotel, however, and was pleased to find the room empty. It only took five minutes for me to undress and crawl into bed, and less than five minutes to fall asleep. When I woke up I wasn't alone; Ginny was sitting at the table over by the window. I hadn't even heard her enter the room. "I need your help," she told me.

"I need to get dressed," I replied. "How about your room in ten minutes?"

"Bret's asleep. Downstairs?"

"Alright. The dining room in ten minutes."

As soon as she left I put my clothes on. I pulled my watch out and checked the time; it was only ten o'clock. I was still tired, but that was nothing unusual. It worried me that Ginny needed my help with something; my guess was her problem involved my brother. Once I made it downstairs it didn't take long to find out I was right.

She waited until I had coffee in front of me, and then got down to business. "I've got a problem."

"Is it named Bret Maverick?" I asked facetiously.

She nodded her head. "He's worried about you being too close to Newton. He wants to go confront the man."

"Over the shooting?" I questioned her between swallows of coffee.

"Over the cheating."

"He doesn't have to do that. I've got everything under control. I'm just waitin' on the marshal. And since I'm awake, I'll go down and see him when we're done."

"He doesn't want to wait, Bart. He wants Newton put away. Now. Before somebody else gets hurt."

I almost laughed, but that wouldn't have gone over well with Ginny. I nodded instead. "And he accuses me of havin' no patience."

"He has a point."

"No. He has nothin' better to do than worry. Can't you take him someplace? Just for a few days? Tell him you hafta go to . . . Lamont, to check out something for Arthur. Get him out of Memphis so I can finish this without him in the way. Please." I knew Malone wouldn't want to lie to Bret, but I was appealing to her better nature.

"So you can do what?"

Good old Beauty, right to the point. "So I can get Newton arrested without Bret bein' hurt again. Please, Ginny, he almost died on us. I need to know he's safe."

It didn't take her long. She knew I was right; as long as Bret was here he was gonna insist on being involved. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. Mind you, I'm not promising anything, just that I'll try."

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was the best news I'd heard since . . . well, since this whole thing started. "I'll go see Tedford, find out if he's gotten anywhere with his witness. Wish me luck."

Before she could change her mind, I left for the marshal's office. Sam wasn't there. One of his deputies directed me to the Golden Star Saloon, and I wondered if he was one of the two on Newton's payroll. I had to get that list of names the next time I saw the Lady's payroll ledgers.

The Golden Star wasn't as big as Fancy Lil's, but it also wasn't part of Newton's growing empire. Everything inside seemed calm and peaceful at the moment, and I found Sam Tedford sitting at a table in the back corner, nursing a cup of coffee. "Marshal."

"Mr. Jamison. Shouldn't you be someplace asleep at this time of day?"

"Probably. But I had a situation that needed to be dealt with, and it wouldn't wait. Can we talk here?"

He looked around and smirked; the place was mostly empty. "Yep. Don't see any Newton spies."

"Any progress with the dealer you were gonna talk to?"

"Some. He admitted things didn't happen quite the way he explained them. He's been talkin' about leavin' town. With a little persuasion I think he might come around."

"Any chance of that happenin' sooner rather than later?"

"Maybe. You got a reason to be in a hurry?"

It might have been a guess, but it was a good guess. "Yeah. A brother named Bret. He wants to go talk to Newton."

"Oh. Not a good idea. That could . . . "

"I know, mess things up in a hurry. This dealer that wants to leave town, he got a particular place he wants to go? Maybe I could get Ginny and Bret to escort him."

"Arkansas, I think. Jonesboro? I can find out. If we could get his sworn statement before he left, that'd be enough for me to re-open the investigation."

I was beginning to feel better than I had when I first came in. "And it would get Bret out of Newton's way."

"You workin' tonight?"

"Of course."

"If you turn up a dealer short, you'll know I was successful."

"And if we don't?"

"We gotta figure out a Plan B."

XXXXXXXX

The Memphis Lady was as full as she could be that night. I spent the night dealing stud poker as we turned up not one but two dealers short. I wondered if Sam Tedford's witness was one of them but had no way of finding out until later.

I saw Newton once, briefly, when we met at the bar for our nightly ritual. He seemed in a better mood than last night and I tried to remain congenial, as difficult as it was getting to stay that way when I was around him. Fortunately I was needed at a table, and our encounter was brief. He seemed to have disappeared from the floor around midnight, and he was nowhere to be seen when I finally left close to five in the morning. Later than usual, but I actually had the next night off, so I managed. By the time I got a quick breakfast and got back to the hotel it was after six, and I found a note waiting from Sam. _'Got what I needed. Come see me before settling in. Tedford.'_

I wasted no time in walking back down to the jail. It was early enough that the marshal was by himself except for a single prisoner, sound asleep or dead drunk in a cell. "Good news?" I asked hopefully.

"It will be. His name's Ed Morris, and he's agreed to signin' a statement today. That means he's gotta get outta town tonight. And I was right, its Jonesboro he's goin' to. Can Malone and Maverick get him there? There's no stage until the end of the week."

I didn't hesitate. "I'll find out." I hurried down to the hotel and checked Bret's room first. It was empty, so I went down to two-twenty. I heard soft laughing inside; at least I wasn't waking them. I knocked and called, "Ginny, it's Bart." She opened the door faster than I expected. "Can I come in?"

Bret was buttoning his shirt as he asked, "Why aren't you in bed?"

Everything came out in a rush, as I explained the plan the marshal and me had in place. It all depended on their willingness to get Morris outta town, and it had to happen tonight. I hated to lay the burden on Ginny's shoulders, but it was up to her to convince my brother it was necessary, assuming he resisted. He already sat there with a face full of skepticism, and I knew it wasn't gonna be easy. Anything that smelled of manipulation didn't sit well with him. "What happens if we say no?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Tedford can't arrest Newton, and I can't get the evidence out. That means he keeps cheatin' people." I paused for just a moment. "And shootin' 'em."

Bret looked at Ginny, and she nodded her head. "We have to do it, Bret."

Bret's expression hadn't changed at all, but his voice had. "Where do we have to take him?"

"Jonesboro."

"And he has to go tonight?"

"Can't make the arrest until he's gone."

I knew Bret was torn. He wanted Newton in jail, but he didn't want to leave me alone. I would have felt the same way if the positions were reversed. "Alright, but I want more details. Make the arrangements."

I nodded. "Thanks. This should be over soon." I hoped.


	24. A Night at Lil's

Chapter 24 – A Night at Lil's

"They'll take him to Jonesboro."

As soon as Bret and Ginny had agreed to drive Ed Morris to Jonesboro, Arkansas, I got myself back to the marshal's office. This time there was a deputy with him, and two more jail cells were occupied. Sam Tedford and I walked outside together, and I lit a cigar as we made our way down the street. I thought he'd have something to say after I told him the good news, but he remained silent until we'd reached the next corner.

"Good. I'll bring him over once he's signed his statement. Best to get him out of Memphis right away, before Newton has a chance to find out what's goin' on. I'm just as anxious as you are to get this all wrapped up."

"You goin' to see him now?" I asked between draws on the cigar.

"Got one stop to make, then I'm on my way. Look for us in a couple hours. This time tomorrow Mr. Newton should be behind bars."

That thought stayed with me all the way back to the hotel. After I told Bret what the marshal had planned I went back to the room to wait. To say I was anxious for the lawman to get there was an understatement. An hour went by, then two, and ever so slowly the morning turned into afternoon, with no sign of Sam Tedford. When the knock on the door finally came I was sure that one of two things had happened. Either Ed Morris had gotten cold feet and refused to sign a statement, or he'd skipped town. There was a third choice, but my mind refused to go there. Just to be safe I pulled out my gun before I yanked open the door.

Tedford stood in front of me, completely alone, and I thought about the obvious choice. My face must have shown my conclusion, because the marshal was quick to answer my unspoken question. "Skipped town. Lock, stock, and barrel." I waved him inside the room and then holstered my gun. "Been lookin' for him all day. Looks like we're gonna need that Plan B."

I'd just about gotten the door closed when it burst open again, and Brother Bret entered. He almost closed it on Agent Malone, but she was right on his heels. "Marshal."

"Mr. Maverick. Agent Malone."

"No witness?"

Sam shook his head. "Gone."

"We need . . . " my brother started before I interrupted him.

"We don't need anything, Bret. You're not part of this equation." I was sure that wouldn't make big brother happy, but for once he'd been through enough. This was my fight now, mine and Sam's, and I wasn't willing to let Bret be exposed to Ben Newton again. Ginny agreed with me, from the look on her face.

"Stay out of this, Bret, and let Bart and the marshal handle it. You're still not healed. One wrong move and you'll be down for weeks again. Or worse."

"I'm the one he shot."

"And that's the best reason for you to stay out of it, Mr. Maverick. If you show up at the Memphis Lady for any reason, Newton's gonna know there's somethin' goin' on. And that could get your brother shot or worse." Sam's reasoning was sound; I just hoped Bret paid attention to it. "And he don't need to be distracted by worryin' about you."

Most of the time when the law speaks, one Maverick or another ignores it. I was hopin' this time it wouldn't be Bret. My brother stood there for just a minute making up his mind; then it looked like the three of us may have convinced him we were right. He turned and left the room without saying another word. Ginny watched the door close behind him and then looked at me. "Do you think he means it?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," was the only thing I could tell her. "I hope so."

XXXXXXXX

It seemed strange, not going to the Lady that night. Tedford stayed with us, and the three of us came up with what the marshal referred to as 'Plan B.' It was a pretty good plan, considering, but we'd have to wait until I was back on board the paddlewheel before putting it into effect. I waited until supper time and then went down to two-twenty to see if I could talk anybody into eating with me. If my brother refused, that was a good gauge of how mad he was at me.

Ginny answered the door, and she was more dressed up than I'd seen her for days. "Well, looks like somebody besides me is hungry," I told her as I followed her into the room. She wasn't the only one. Bret was ready to go play poker, from the look of him. "You goin' somewhere besides supper?"

"I need to get out of here," came his reply. "Can I do that?"

"Sure. You're entitled. Any requests?"

"A steak and poker. If I remember how."

Whether he intended to be humorous or not, he got a laugh out of me. We went down the street to the Kansas Steakhouse, which I'd seen several times without going in, and had a first-class meal. Bret had lost a good deal of weight due to the gut shot, but it still seemed odd to see him leave uneaten food on his plate. Towards the end of the meal he looked more worn-out than I'd seen him for a while, and I wondered if getting this far out of the hotel had been too much effort for him. Before I could say anything he asked, "Where's the nearest saloon?"

"Around the corner," I told him. "Fancy Lil's. But it belongs to Newton."

"Any chance of him bein' there?"

I chuckled just a little. "Probably not. Not with me off the Lady tonight."

Bret looked at Ginny, then at me. "Then let's go."

"Alright," I agreed. "So long as we don't see Ben."

"Agreed."

I walked slowly behind Bret and Ginny and listened. "Why?" Ginny asked.

"I couldn't look at those walls anymore."

"Why here?"

"Why not?"

"You're planning something." Ginny made the accusation and got no answer. That meant she was probably right. "What?"

We'd finally reached Lil's and gone inside. It was quieter than it had been the last time I was in here, even though there were more people. Bret saw something and headed for a table with an empty chair, and Ginny followed me to a little table further in back. I ordered coffee for both of us and kept my eye on my brother. It didn't take long for him to get involved in the poker game in front of him and start winning. "You've gotten to know him pretty well, haven't you?"

She didn't look surprised by my question at all. "I should, after all the time I've spent with him."

"Changed your mind about how you feel?"

That got a smile out of her. "Not a bit."

"Still willin' to marry him?"

"Any time he's ready."

We fell silent for a minute, and I watched him play poker. There was a light in his eyes I hadn't seen in quite a while, and I wondered if he'd ever be ready. Don't get me wrong – I know he loves Ginny. But he's loved poker far longer. I was just about to say something else when I felt her hand frantically grab my arm. "Bart – look." I followed her eyes to the front of the saloon. A man had just walked in through the batwing doors.

Ben Newton.


	25. Pistols and Partnerships

Chapter 25 – Pistols and Partnerships

My first instinct was to jump up, grab my brother by the elbow, and push him out the back door. Which I assume Lil's had. I made myself sit still and watch instead. Bret was deeply involved in his poker game, and Newton walked straight over to the bar without looking around. "Bart," Ginny hissed at me.

"I see 'em." I wasn't sure what Ginny wanted me to do, but sitting there watching the two of them probably wasn't it. Newton talked to the bartender for a minute or two and then disappeared into the back room. I glanced at Bret quickly – he hadn't looked up from the game.

"Can we get him out of here?" Ginny asked.

"Not when he looks like that," I replied, having seen the intense expression on my brother's face. "Just sit still. I'll handle it." I waited until the poker game was over, then got up from the table and walked up behind Bret. I leaned down with my hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, "We have to go."

He looked up at me and asked, "Why?"

The door behind the bar opened and Newton stepped out. I felt Bret stiffen under my fingers. "That's why." Without removing my hand from his shoulder I half-turned and motioned Ginny to the poker table. "Pick up your money, we're leaving," I directed at my brother. Bret didn't move.

When Ginny got to the table I told her, "Get his money and get him out of here." She bent down and gathered his funds as I turned and made my way to stand in front of Ben Newton and temporarily block the view.

"Mr. Jamison. I had the feeling I'd be seeing you tonight." Newton wasn't at all startled to see me standing in front of him.

"I came to warn you."

"Warn me about what?" he asked.

I moved aside so his line of vision was clear. He seemed to freeze when he caught sight of my brother, who had just risen from his seat. Ginny got him to move; she had her hand wrapped around his arm. Neither of them looked happy – Malone even less so when Bret stood tall but didn't budge an inch. He was staring right at me, and I mouthed the word _'Please.'_

I felt Newton's arm begin to move downward, towards his gun, and I grabbed his wrist. "Don't. He's not heeled." That wasn't exactly accurate. Bret didn't have his gun belt on, but his derringer was in his waistcoat pocket. Ben shifted his eyes to stare at me, and I continued, "You can't shoot him. Too many witnesses." He seemed to understand what I was saying, and I felt his arm go slack. "Just let her get him out of here."

There was a slight nod of the head and I turned my attention back to the Pinkerton agent. "Go." I almost shouted it, and she tugged on Bret's arm. He finally glanced at her and gave her a half-smile, then looked back at me and Newton. He tipped his hat and they walked very slowly away from the table and out of the saloon. I breathed a sigh of relief and let go of Newton's wrist.

"Thanks." I was surprised by the lack of emotion in the remark. Ben Newton didn't strike me as a dispassionate man about anything, much less someone interfering in his business. "You bring him here?"

I shook my head. "He brought himself. He wanted to play poker, and this was the closest saloon. I came along to protect . . . everybody. Just in case."

"Good move. I need a drink." He walked behind the bar and pulled out two glasses. "Whiskey or brandy?"

"Neither. Coffee."

"Sure, why not?" Ben discarded the glass and pulled out a coffee cup instead. He was in an awfully calm mood for somebody that was ready to pull their gun and shoot just a few minutes ago. Or had that all been for show?

Just exactly what was really goin' on here? Newton had asked me once before if I would stay with him when Bret went back to 'work,' and I dodged the question. Were those the waters he was testing now? I couldn't be that important to his plans, could I? He poured my coffee, and his whiskey, and walked out from behind the bar and over to a table. I picked up the coffee and followed him. "What was all that about, anyway?"

"When I saw Maverick . . . I thought he was here to gun me."

"And you thought I brought him here to do that? Why?"

He downed the shot of whiskey and poured himself another. "Why not? You worked for him a long time before you worked for me."

"With him, Ben, I worked with him. Just because I called him boss don't mean we weren't partners."

"Is that what it would take to keep you here? A partnership?"

Maybe he thought that's what I was after, a piece of the pie. If everything I'd told him about Bret and me was real and true, wouldn't I be? When working again with Bret was uncertain at best? Something was telling me to play along, see where it took me. So I did. "You want me to stay here?"

"Instead of moving on with Maverick? You're a man of many talents. I think it could benefit both of us."

I let him think I was mulling it over. "What about him stayin'?"

He shook his head. "Maybe before . . . but not now. There's too much distrust between us."

"What about the girl?" Did he have something planned for Ginny?

"Don't you think she'd go with him? Seems awful close to him not to."

"You may be right." I finished what was in my cup. "It's somethin' to think about. Stayin' here, I mean. Thanks for the coffee."

I picked myself up and left before Newton could throw anything else at me. Besides, I still had a brother to deal with, and I had no idea what kind of mood he'd be in.

XXXXXXXX

I found Bret standing outside the hotel in the dark, smoking a cigar. There was no trace of Ginny. "You all done takin' care of your boss?"

"I had to play up to him for our plan to work. You know that."

He agreed with me surprisingly quickly. "I know you did. Good thing, too. He was awful quick to go for his gun."

"Said he thought you were gonna shoot him."

There was just enough moonlight that I could see the faintest trace of a smile. "With what?"

"I'm just tellin' you his excuse."

"What'd you talk about after I left?"

I didn't know how he'd take my conversation with Newton, but now was no time to lie. Besides, we always tried to tell each other the truth. "He hinted at offerin' me a partnership to stick around after you leave town."

"One way or the other, huh?"

I shrugged. "Figures there's not much reason for you to stay when you're well enough to travel."

"What'd you tell him?"

"That I'd have to think about it."

Bret threw what was left of his cigar into the street. "Bart, let's get out of here. It's my fault we're mixed up in this to begin with. Let's just take Ginny and go, before somethin' else happens that we can't fix."

"Run, you mean? What about Newton?"

"He's Tedford's problem. Or the next man he tries to cheat, somebody that's just a little faster than he is."

"Ginny wouldn't leave now; not with the way things stand."

"She would if I married her."


	26. Change of Plans

Chapter 26 – Change of Plans

"That ain't no reason to marry her, Bret." Sometimes I wondered just exactly how my brother's mind worked. He wouldn't marry her because he loved her, but he'd marry her to get her out of town.

It was my turn for a smoke, and I lit a cigar and waited for Bret to say something. Finally, I heard, "I'd do just about anything to keep her safe, Bart."

"Then just sit still and let this play out the way it's supposed to, would ya?"

Bret said nothing, just turned and went inside the hotel. I threw the rest of the cigar into the street and followed him in, catching up to him at the top of the staircase. He went into two-sixteen; I went in right behind him. Once the door was closed he asked his question. "How long?"

"I'll go talk to Sam in the mornin'. If everything goes right, maybe tonight."

"And if it doesn't?"

I didn't answer him, just unbuckled my gun belt and took off my coat. I was bone-tired, exhausted emotionally from the last few days, but none more so than earlier tonight. I understood Bret's hurry to get Newton arrested; the man had tried to kill him. And God only knew what else he'd try if he got wind of what we were really up to. But it was the middle of the night, and there was nothing I could do until morning at the earliest. "I'm gonna catch a few hours' sleep. I suggest you do the same." I finished undressing and crawled into bed, hoping that when I closed my eyes this would all be gone. I heard the door open and close, the lock from the outside, and nothing more.

XXXXXXXX

I slept soundly. It was late morning when I woke, and for once there was no one knocking at the door. I shaved and got cleaned up, changed clothes and headed for the marshal's office. Sam didn't seem surprised to see me. "Have a little trouble last night?" was the first thing he asked.

"Nope. Unless you count Newton tryin' to kill my brother – again."

"Heard you jumped right in there and prevented it."

"Wasn't much else I could do. Bret wasn't even heeled. I gotta do somethin', Sam, before this all blows up in my face. Can you be at the Lady tonight?"

"I can. You tryin' to get the books out? While Newton's there? You got a distraction?"

"I will, with Malone's help. Show up after ten o'clock, that's when everything gets busy. I'll get it all out to you, but you gotta get it off the paddlewheel. Soon as I can I'll meet you at the jail. Then it's up to you."

The marshal nodded. "I've already talked to Judge Tobin about everything. As long as the proof's there he'll issue a warrant for Newton. He won't do anything about the attempted murder charge unless you can find more witnesses. That's the best I've been able to do, Bart."

"That's good enough, Sam. That stops him from hurtin' innocent people. And it buys me time, to look for folks who saw what really happened the night Bret was shot."

"How's he feel about all this, anyway?"

How to explain my brother to Sam Tedford? "I ain't really sure, Sam. Last night he was ready to run; just get us all the hell out of Memphis. I think he mostly wishes he hadn't gotten shot tryin' to help Malone. Then again, knowin' him the way I do, if he had it to do over he'd do the same thing. I think now he's just worried about . . . "

"You or Agent Malone gettin' shot?"

"That's about it. He's not gonna be happy until he doesn't have to worry anymore."

"Can't say as I blame him. I'll be happier when Newton's in jail."

I'd been sitting in the chair next to Tedford's desk while we talked; now I stood and offered my hand to the marshal. "I'll see you at the Lady. I have to go plan my diversion."

"Good luck."

Back at the hotel Ginny was nowhere to be found. I checked both rooms for Bret and finally located him in the dining room, having an early lunch. "Where's Ginny?"

"She had business to take care of, said she'd be back later. What's up? Did you see the marshal?"

"I did. We made some plans that should put your mind at ease, but I need Ginny to finalize 'em. You don't know where she went?"

"Not exactly. Some kind of an errand for Arthur. Tell me about the plans."

I might as well. Saved me the time and trouble of telling Ginny just so she could tell Bret. So I laid the whole thing out for him, including the part that I needed Ginny's help with. Surprisingly, he listened and didn't interrupt the way he usually does. When I finished he nodded his head. "Sounds like a good plan. But there could be a small change."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Ginny's not comin' up to the Lady tonight. I am."


	27. Missing Ledgers and Broken Legs

Chapter 27 – Missing Ledgers and Broken Legs

"Ginny's not comin' up to the Lady tonight. I am."

I wanted to launch into a full-scale argument with him, but knowledge of my brother's personality and past-life experience had taught me a little better than that. Best to wait and not argue until Ginny got back; after all, if she was delayed for any reason he was the only 'diversion' I had left.

"Nothin' to say?"

"Nope." Bret was done with his lunch and I needed something better to do than worry about tonight, so I made a suggestion. "Let's go find a poker game. Not in a saloon that Newton owns."

It only took a few seconds to decide. "Fine by me." He paid for his food and we left the dining room, then the hotel. Once outside I headed up the street. "Got someplace in mind?"

"Yeah. A little place called Mattie's. Just up the way a bit."

We walked towards Mattie's and I noticed Bret moving a little faster, a lot steadier. I could tell he was feeling better, and I was certainly glad to see that. He caught me watching him and gave me that Bret grin, dimples and all. I was grateful to Doc Wheeler for pulling him through Ben Newton's attempt at murder, and I wanted to make sure there was no repeat performance. Whatever it took.

Mattie's was a little place that reminded me of the LB Bar. Small and quiet, it looked much more like a saloon established for the Memphis locals than the out-of-town visitor. It might be quiet inside, but it was busy. There were already three or four poker games going, and it was just now afternoon. Bret found one he liked; I found another, and soon we were both involved with our favorite companion.

We played most of the afternoon, until it was late enough that I needed to get ready for tonight's business. It had been a pleasant few hours – no worries, no plots or plans, no concerns other than the way the cards were falling and the boys were playing them. It was a respite I needed, and I felt more at ease about what was ahead of me. I picked up my money, thanked the men at the table for the game, and walked outside. I'd lit a cigar and was thoroughly enjoying it when Bret joined me. "Ready, Brother Bart?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Ready, Brother Bret."

"Let's go catch us a cheat."

XXXXXXXX

I changed clothes back at the hotel room, dressing for a night of work and subterfuge. Bret did, too, wearing a variation of the clothes he'd had on the evening he was shot. Ginny still wasn't back by the time I left the hotel; it was up to Bret to explain everything to her. There was nothing I could do to prevent my brother from showing up at the Lady sometime around nine or ten o'clock; I needed either his or Ginny's help to pull off my deception.

This night was no different than the past few nights had been. One minute we were almost empty, the next minute we were almost full. I was missing a faro dealer for a while and was afraid I was gonna be stuck dealing the game the rest of the night. Fortunately, the dealer showed up late and I was free to roam the paddlewheel and the gambling salon, as had become my habit. I hadn't seen Ben all evening and wondered if this night was gonna pass easy.

That turned out to be wishful thinking. Newton walked into the salon about eight thirty and motioned me over to the bar. "I rest easier when I walk in and see you here," he told me as the bartender poured our usual. He reached out a hand to me to shake and I took it, understanding for just a moment how Judas must have felt. Then I reminded myself that this man had almost killed my brother, and the feeling passed.

"You here all night?" I asked him, and he nodded in reply.

"I am. I've got something to take care of a little later, but I won't be off the Lady. I'll be around if you need me for anything."

"Good." Yeah, it was a stupid thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. We stood at the bar for another five minutes, drinking and talking, and then Newton left to walk the floor of the salon. Me, I went back to fidgeting and wondering just why I'd gotten myself into this mess.

Nine o'clock came and went; then nine-thirty, and I knew it was almost time to put our plan into effect. I made my way to the boss's office and found it dark and empty. I lit a cigar and went in, hurriedly locating the large desk that held some of the documents I was after. I struck a match and found the papers, removing them from their hiding place and secreting them in a pocket inside my coat. I moved on to the safe and opened it, searching for the payroll records I needed. The ledgers were gone.

They'd been here the day before yesterday. The only people besides me that worked with them were Stan Jeffords and Newton himself. Since I didn't have an office and I was already in Newton's, the logical assumption was they were in Stan's possession. There was only one problem – Stan didn't have an office, either.

Where could they be? Without the ledgers, I didn't have enough evidence to satisfy Judge Tobin's requirements. Then I remembered – Newton said he had something to take care of. I had no idea what it could be, or how it would involve the payroll ledgers, but where else could they be? I closed up the office and returned to the gambling salon; it was already a few minutes after ten o'clock.

Sam Tedford was standing at the bar, talking to one of the bartenders. My brother was nowhere in sight. I caught Sam's eye and inclined my head towards one of the salon doors, and within a few minutes Sam followed me out. I pulled the papers from inside my coat and shoved them into Sam's hands. "I thought there was more than just this."

"There was . . . there is, but the rest of it wasn't in the safe like it was supposed to be," I explained. "Get this out of here and see if you can find my brother. I need him to go back to the hotel until I find the ledgers."

The marshal gave no reply and I hurried back inside the gambling salon. I hoped no one had seen me leave and return so quickly, lest they start asking questions. I still had to find the ledgers.

XXXXXXXX

The good news is . . . Bret never showed up on the Lady. The bad news is . . . neither did the ledgers. My brother wasn't the only one that didn't show. I didn't see Ben Newton the rest of the night, and when business slowed down to a crawl around four in the morning, I left for the marshal's office. As usual, Sam was there by himself. "Find the rest of it?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Couldn't find the ledgers or Newton. I have the feeling they spent the night together."

"I took what you gave me to the judge, and just like you thought, there's not enough for a warrant."

"Not surprised. I gotta find the missin' records."

"There's coffee ready if you want some," Tedford offered.

"Yeah, thanks." I poured myself a cup, then wandered back over to the marshal's desk. "Still tryin' to figure out where everything went last night. How long's the Judge willin' to wait for the rest of it?"

"He didn't say. I imagine he's just like us, wants to get this all wrapped up as soon as possible."

"I'll try again tonight. Can you come back down?"

"I'll do my best. Depends on how Saturday night goes. It's been awful quiet lately; that's bound to change sometime. By the way, I never did find your brother. You got any idea what happened to him?"

That bothered me. Why hadn't Bret shown up last night? Or Ginny, if he couldn't make it? "No. I'm headed for the hotel now." I drank the last of my coffee and moved towards the door. When I reached it I turned back to the marshal for a moment. "Thanks for the help, Sam. I'll see you before I go back to the Lady tonight."

Tedford nodded and I left, in a hurry to find out what happened to my brother. Bret was definitely the more reliable of the two of us, and it had me on edge that he hadn't shown up. I checked two-sixteen but it was empty. I couldn't tell if anyone had been in there since I left last night or not. That propelled me on down to room two-twenty and I listened for a minute before knocking. All was quiet inside.

I tried the door – locked. "Bret. Ginny. You in there?" I tapped softly on the door and waited. There was no response. I knocked harder but got the same thing – nothing. When I was about to head down to persuade the hotel clerk to give me the passkey, I finally heard the door unlock and watched as the door slowly opened. Bret stood in front of me, rumpled and bleary-eyed, but all in one piece. He was half dressed and looked like he'd slept in the clothes he did have on. "What's wrong?" I asked, and he pointed me back towards two-sixteen and followed me into the room. "What's wrong?" I repeated.

"Didn't you get my message? I left it with the bartender at the Memphis Lady last night."

"No, I didn't. What happened?"

"Ginny's horse went down on the way back. When she didn't show up here after dark I rented a buggy and left a message at the paddlewheel, then went to find her."

"I thought you didn't know where she went?"

"I didn't. I found the telegram Arthur sent her – she rode to Wilsonville."

Wilsonville was a good twenty or thirty miles away. "Is she alright?"

Bret nodded. "Bruised and almost lame herself. And exhausted. Did you get what you needed?"

I dropped into a chair. "Nope. Couldn't get my hands on the ledgers. Ben disappeared, and I think he had them. Which bartender did you see? I wanna find out why I didn't get your message."

"Alexander. Short, young, red-headed." I knew exactly who he meant. But why hadn't Alex given me the message? Bret was talking again and I hadn't been paying attention. "What about the rest of it? Did you get the rest of it out to Tedford?"

"Yeah, but the judge needs the ledgers before he'll issue the warrant. We're gonna try again tonight."

"Same time?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there. And Bart," he laid his hand on my shoulder; his touch was surprisingly gentle. And the tone of his voice was . . . regretful. "I'm sorry I wasn't there last night."


	28. Found Out

Chapter 28 – Found Out

I spent the rest of the morning trying to sleep. The best I can say is I dozed on and off between bouts of trying to figure out what happened to both Newton and his ledgers. I finally gave up and got dressed, wandering back down to two-twenty to see how Ginny was doing. Bret answered my knock again, but this time held the door open for me.

Even with the right half of her face black and blue, Agent Malone remained one of God's greatest creations. She was gonna be stiff and sore for a few days, and it would probably take a week or more for the bruised face to heal. When her horse went down she went right with him, but she fared better than he did. She was still alive. "Can you walk today?" I asked her.

"Sort of," was her reply. She moved slowly and carefully, and I knew exactly how she felt.

"Step in a hole?"

"Not sure, but that's what it felt like. Bret filled me in on last night. Are you going to try again?"

"I am, tonight. Assuming I can find the ledgers."

"Be careful," she insisted. "Newton's not to be trusted."

"I keep remindin' myself of that."

"What time do you want me there?"

That's when Bret stepped in. Very quietly and forcefully he insisted, "Oh, no. You're not goin' down there, you're too banged up. I'll go, like I was supposed to last night."

Ginny looked at Bret, then at me. "What time, Bart?" She asked her question in that official Pinkerton Captain's voice she possessed.

I assume he'd learned not to argue with her when she sounded like that; I certainly had. "Right around ten o'clock, Agent Malone."

"I'll be there."

It seemed like a good time to leave. "I'll see you both later. Take care of each other, huh?" I beat a hasty retreat and scurried down the hall to the stairs, then down and out the front doors of the hotel. Food sounded like a good idea, so I found a small café and ordered a late breakfast. About halfway through the meal Doc Wheeler came in and, after some persuasion, joined me. I'd wanted to stop and see him anyway, so he'd saved me a trip.

"How's Bret doing?"

Doc hadn't seen him in a week, and I was pleased to report his progress. Then I told him about Ginny. "Her horse went down yesterday, Doc, and she's pretty bruised up. I'd feel better if you'd take a look at her. They're down in room two-twenty, but don't tell 'em I sent you."

He let loose with a small chuckle. "You three really take care of each other, don't you?"

I could see his point. "Most of the time, Doc. When we're together."

I finished my meal and left Doc to finish his. My next stop was the marshal's office, which was busier than I'd ever seen it. Three of the desks were occupied by deputies and citizens of one stripe or another; two of the cells had tenants, and the marshal was in the corner pouring a cup of coffee. As soon as Sam glanced my way I ducked back outside, taking a seat on the boardwalk in front of the office and lighting a cigar. It was less than ten minutes before Tedford was standing beside me, smoking a cigar of his own. "Let's walk," he suggested, so I stood and we headed up the street.

I reiterated the story of Ginny and her mount, and Sam shook his head in sympathy. "Know just what that feels like," he explained as he relit his stogie. "How bad was she hurt?"

"Cuts and bruises, but she must have landed on her face. I asked Doc to take a look at her."

"She gonna help out tonight?"

"Bret said no. Ginny said yes."

Sam shook his head and laughed. "I'd put my money on Agent Malone. I scheduled an extra deputy, so I should be there by ten o'clock." He took a draw on his cigar, then continued, "Let's hope we can get this wrapped up quick."

"Trust me, I won't rest easy until Newton's behind bars."

We walked and smoked a few more minutes. Eventually Sam stopped in one of the stores, and I went back to the hotel. What was left of the afternoon I spent reading and dozing, probably trying to make up for the sleep I missed last night. A bath and a shave followed, then a change of clothes and a quick stop at two-twenty. Ginny opened the door this time. "You didn't have to send Doc Wheeler to see me."

"Sure I did. You still up for tonight?"

From the back of the room I heard a distinct, "No!" Ginny's answer was different.

"Yes. I'll be there by ten. Good luck."

My cigar done, I was whistling as I left for the Memphis Lady and my hunt for the missing ledgers. I was there early again, but that gave me time to find Alex and question him. He was behind the bar washing glasses.

"Alex, you have somethin' for me last night?"

He stopped what he was doing and thought about my question for just a minute, then turned slightly red. "Yes sir, I did. I gave it to Mr. Newton, and he said he'd give it to you."

So Ben had intercepted Bret's message to me. Did that explain my not seeing Newton or the ledgers the rest of the night? "Do you remember what it said, Alex?"

"I never read it, Mr. Jamison."

Darn, I should have asked Bret what he wrote. Now what? Before I could spend too much time pondering that question, one of the roulette croupier's came to find me. He thought there was something amiss with his wheel and we went to take a look at its mechanics. Turns out he was right; a small piece of paper had gotten caught under the wheel and was throwing everything off by just a fraction. People started arriving and the salon got busy, and when nine o'clock had come and gone I still hadn't seen Newton.

I was headed to his office when I spotted him across the floor, standing at the bar and drinking. I joined him, but he seemed distracted and we barely spoke before he left for another part of the boat. I took one more turn around the salon and then continued to my original destination. Again, the office was dark, like it was last night, but this time I went straight to the safe without lighting a cigar. Once opened, it yielded the precious ledgers, tucked safely on the second shelf just where they were supposed to be. I didn't hear anything until it was too late, and it was the unmistakable sound of a hammer on a gun being pulled back. "Find what you were looking for, Mr. Maverick?"


	29. A Beautiful Day

Chapter 29 – A Beautiful Day

Instinct kicked in, and my reply was a firm, "The name's Jamison, Ben."

"I don't think so." He was five or six feet away from me, but he threw a small piece of paper at me. I picked it up carefully, opened and read it. _'Bart – Something's happened to Ginny. I have to go find her. Sorry I can't be there. Bret.'_ The language was ambiguous, at best. Bret knew better than to write something incriminating, but Newton wasn't stupid, and he'd read between the lines. Now I stood here in the dark, holding the missing ledgers, with what I had to assume was a gun pointed my way.

"Took me for a fool, didn't you, and I played right along. What were you gonna do with the ledgers, try to blackmail me? Or did you have something else in mind? What kind of retribution have you got planned?"

I had no answer for him. I wasn't about to tell him the truth, and nothing I could think of would sound like anything but a lie. So I stood there with the evidence in my hands and waited for the shot that never came.

"Is he coming tonight to kill me? Or was that your job? I'll say one thing, Maverick. You're good. I never once saw you grimace, or grit your teeth when we shook hands. I believed every lie you fed me."

I finally found my voice. "No one is comin' to kill you, Newton."

"What then?"

Let him figure it out for himself. I was a dead man, any way you cut it. The only thing I wanted right now was to make sure that he didn't hurt my brother or Beauty. "Get it over with, 'eh?"

He shoved the gun into my chest. "Oh, no. You don't get off that easy. Let's go see who's here tonight. Turn around and walk out that door." I did as told, and the gun barrel made its way from my chest into my back. He was right behind me, and we walked out into the bright lights of the gambling salon. It was a little past ten o'clock.

It took me a minute, but I spotted Bret standing at the far side of a poker table, almost straight in front of me. He was alone. My eyes searched frantically for Sam Tedford, but he was nowhere in sight. From the push in the back I received it was evident that Newton had seen Bret, too. I'm still not certain exactly how everything happened, even though it all transpired right in front of me. I felt the gun barrel removed from my back and I knew what Newton was gonna do – shoot Bret, and this time he'd make sure that the job was finished. Just as he went to fire the gun there was movement at the far end of the table, and Malone appeared as if from nowhere. She'd seen Newton's action and stepped right in front of the man she loved, putting herself squarely in the line of fire.

I literally tried to knock the gun out of Newton's hand with the payroll ledgers, but succeeded only in sending the barrel slightly up into the air. When he fired, the bullet went straight for the Pinkerton agent's shoulder rather than her chest. I heard a shot over by the salon door and looked to my right just in time to see Sam Tedford holding the rifle he'd fired at Ben Newton. There was shock on Newton's face and surprise reflected in his eyes, and he slumped forward right into me. If you were more than a foot or two away it must have looked as if both of us had been hit by the blast. I crashed to the floor with a dead weight on top of me, and struggled to get out from underneath the body. I'd heard Bret's anguished cry and knew Ginny had been shot, and the only thought in my head was to get to the two of them as fast as possible. I didn't realize that Bret believed I'd been hit, too.

When I finally got out from under Newton I was left with his blood all over me. I wouldn't turn loose of the ledgers, just in case he was still breathing, but I managed to push through the crowd that had gathered around us and reach my brother. He was on the floor with Ginny cradled in his arms, and he was as full of her blood as I was Newton's. He had pressed a handkerchief to her wound to try and stem the bleeding, and he was calling for a doctor. Bret caught sight of me and went instantly silent, and that's when I realized what I must look like. "I'm alright, I'm not hit," I practically yelled at him. Somebody grabbed me by the shoulder and I whirled around to find Tedford holding on to me. I repeated what I'd told Bret and I saw the visible relief flood Sam's face.

"I thought for sure . . . " he started, as he began pushing the crowd that had gathered away from us.

"No," I told him. "It's Newton's blood." I'd finally reached Bret and Ginny, and I helped my brother pick up the agent and lay her gently on the poker table. Bret wouldn't turn loose of her, and I could feel him shaking.

"Ginny?" he whispered.

"It looks like a through and through," I told him, just as a familiar figure appeared. I don't know who'd sent for him, or how he'd managed to get there so quickly, but Doc Wheeler moved me out of the way so he could attend to the injured agent.

After a few moments of gentle examination, he lifted his eyes to meet mine. "Good diagnosis, doctor." Ginny was unconscious; he turned to Bret. "She'll be fine," he pronounced, and the relief on my brother's face was visible. Bret took a good look at me then, as if waiting for me to give him the truth I'd withheld previously.

"I'm alright," I repeated. "It's Newton's blood."

"Is he dead?"

Sam had momentarily vanished; now he reappeared, pushing his way through the crowd that had reformed around the poker table. "Looks like you won't get to see him hang," he explained, and I wasn't bothered in the least. As I'd been reminded on other occasions, dead is dead, however it happens.

"My buggy's outside," Doc informed Bret, who gathered Ginny into his arms like she was weightless and carried her out the salon doors. Doc followed and I started to, but Sam stopped me.

"I could use your help here," he told me, and I nodded. We made our way back to Newton's body, and I finally handed the ledgers to the marshal.

"I guess I don't need to hang on to these anymore, do I?"

"They could be important later. We can clean up a lot of dirt with these."

I looked at the body lying on the floor. "Certainly did his best to create havoc, didn't he?" My gaze shifted to the marshal standing beside me. "Thanks for the save."

"No problem. Sorry I didn't get here a couple minutes sooner."

I slapped him gently on the back. "You were here when it counted."

XXXXXXXX

By the time I got back to Doc Wheeler's office, Ginny was awake. Bret was still hovering over her like a mother hen, at least until I walked into the exam room. "I thought you were shot, too," he told me, and grabbed me in a bear hug. I looked the same as I had the last time I saw him, except for the fact that I was now covered in dried, rather than fresh, blood. Still not mine.

"Sorry," I replied, and eventually shook loose of his embrace. I turned to Ginny. "How you feel, Beauty?"

"Like that damn horse came back and finished what he started," she told me. "Are you really alright?"

"I am, but Mr. Newton has had better days. Thanks to the marshal."

"Sorry I missed that part. I was a little busy." She tried to chuckle but ended up coughing instead.

"Don't you know that steppin' in front of my brother has always been my job?"

"Neither one of you should be doin' it," Bret insisted.

"Then stop gettin' shot at," I told him.

"I second that," came from Ginny.

"Alright, this lady needs some rest," Doc pronounced. "Both of you can leave. Come back later."

Bret shook his head. "Nope. Stayin' right here."

"Bart, take him back to the hotel."

I wasn't gonna argue with her. Like I said before, I knew better. "Yes, ma'am." I turned to Bret. "You heard the lady. Let's go."

"I' .leaving."

I knew that tone of voice, too. I'd listened to it for most of my life, and now was no time to start ignoring it. I turned my attention to Ginny and plastered a smile on my face. "Sorry, Captain Malone. He outranks you."

"Change clothes and get cleaned up. I'll think about leavin' when you come back." I'd gotten my orders from my brother, and I saluted his command.

"Yes, sir." Knowing when you've been defeated comes in handy.

I proceeded to do as ordered, except I went back to the marshal's office rather than Doc Wheeler's after I got cleaned up. Things there had quieted down considerably. There was only one jail cell occupied and one deputy in the office. This time I was officially introduced.

"Bart Maverick, this is Randy Pearce. Deputy Pearce, Mr. Maverick works for Pinkerton."

"Sometimes," I corrected as Pearce and I shook hands. "You the only one left?"

"No, sir," Pearce answered, "but the ranks have thinned considerably. Sam went on a tear when he got back this mornin'."

"That I did," the marshal announced. "I fired two deputies that were here and have one more to go, next time he shows up. If he shows up."

"I guess those ledgers came in handy after all."

Sam nodded. "After I took a look at 'em I turned 'em over to Judge Tobin. I have the feelin' I'll be makin' some more arrests when he gets through with 'em. Thanks to you."

"Newton at the coroners?"

"Yep. Memphis Lady's closed until her ownership can be sorted out. You seen Agent Malone yet? How is she?"

"She'll be fine. Bret's with her, said he'd go to the hotel when I came back, but I doubt he'll leave her. So I came here to see how you'd fared."

"Quiet as a church mouse, now. Maybe it'll stay that way for a while. I've had enough shootin's to last for a good long time."

We sat and talked for a while longer, then I left for Doc Wheeler's. The sun was just beginnin' to come up, and the knots that existed in the pit of my stomach ever since I got to Memphis had finally untied. It looked like it was gonna be a beautiful day.

TBC


	30. Epilogue

Chapter 30 – Epilogue

It would be a couple weeks before Ginny was well enough to go anywhere, and Bret elected to stay in Memphis and 'take care of' her. "My turn," is the way he put it.

Sam Tedford was right when he talked about making more arrests. Judge Tobin issued twelve warrants in all, and the Memphis jail was once again full of occupants. I gave a deposition in front of the judge that was accepted as my sworn statement; I had no intention of staying in Memphis for all the trials to come.

I debated for a day or two where I was headed next before I settled on New Orleans. I hadn't been there for a while, not since I went looking for Dalton Dupree, and that certainly hadn't been by choice. Besides, if I remembered correctly, Matthew Langford was there, and Matt owed me some money. Quite a bit of money, if I remembered correctly. If I'd known what I was gonna go through before I saw any of that money, I definitely would have written it off to experience and forgotten about it. Before all was said and done I would count myself lucky to have survived the ordeal.

I learned a lot in the time I spent in New Orleans – some good, some bad, all of it things I either didn't remember or had never known. When it was over I had a new respect for my father and a desperate need to spend time with Doralice Donovan in Little Bend. As a matter of fact, by the time I got home to Texas I would be joined once again by my brother and Ginny, whose relationship seemed to have deepened while I fought for my sanity and my life in New Orleans.

That's another story, one that may prove difficult to tell, and once I've explained everything I never want to think about it again. It's a tale that I can only call Black Opium, named after the drug that changed my life forever. Without my knowledge or permission.

The End


End file.
